Powerplay
by mare.imbrium.1
Summary: On the Citadel, heart of the galaxy, power begets power. The weak are weak, the strong are strong, and the universe makes sense. But when a new species stumbles onto the galactic scene bringing mysterious technology, the delicate balance is toppled. Now all, from the meek to the near-omnipotent, are called upon to fight and struggle for their beliefs.
1. Chapter 1

Out of all the times to catch wind of a human, Garrus Vakarian decided that this moment was one of the worst. He was on a case: the theft of a particularly expensive sky-car. It was owned by a volus business magnate, Wak Priv, who was known to host lavish weekly parties at his Zakera Ward penthouse.

Disgusting. Serving the interests of private property was not why he joined. Call him an idealist (and many people have), but the thought of protecting some rich sapient's trinket when there were _true injustices_ out there set an itch under his mandibles. It was all in accordance with C-Sec's mandatory quota targets. Would it be up to him, he would hunt the worst of the worst- organ harvesters, drug dealers, sapient traffickers. Spirits-damn the _special interests_.

_I suppose it didn't hurt to take a few minutes off,_ he thought, and turned onto the railing to get a better view.

After all, humans weren't even supposed to be on the Citadel yet, at least not in any official capacity. Contact was made a few weeks ago, and per procedure, the human leaders were invited here- the Citadel, the Five Arms, heart of the galaxy. Though it was apparently accepted, the diplomatic mission had suffered delay after delay, and no one was sure why. Some believed that the humans were actually feral, brutish things, like the Rachni centuries prior. Others cast them as an ancient race, perhaps even a group of Prothean survivors, who opted to recede back into their little galactic corner. There were also rumors that humans had their own, wildly different faster-than-light technology, which forced them to reach the Citadel using the "slow way," bypassing the galaxy-spanning mass relay network. Garrus didn't think to put much stock in any of them.

This one, standing a level below him, had been wandering around the ward aimlessly, somehow oblivious to all the people gawking and recording it. Had it been any other species, Garrus would have flagged it as a vagrant and reported its location to C-Sec for ID and processing.

He overheard murmuring from the onlookers.

"… what's it doing here? I thought there was another delay…"

"…looks so much like an asari, like a maiden in fact…"

"…brown fur instead of head-frills…"

"…do all humans wear jumpsuits? Geez man, hold the omni-tool camera _horizontally-_"

Suddenly very aware of the forming crowd and his contribution to it, Garrus turned and briskly walked off. The investigation scene was only a few minutes away.

It seemed that the carjacker was much worse at flying than theft. Security drones had automatically cordoned off the area, circling in the air slowly to dissuade pedestrians from walking too close. Amongst them stood a large bronze statue in the form of a salarian, triumphantly raising an ancestral _palou_ sword into the sky. The plaque below spoke of a general who led several brilliant maneuvers during the Krogan rebellions. Thanks to this idiot, a large black mark now streaked across his side. Too bad for him.

Garrus had already reconstructed the events from security footage. A few hours ago, the sky-car took off, sped down the nearby lane, and shed its side on the statue. He was here to answer the pressing question: where the vehicle was going.

"Oh. What do we have here?"

Several large chunks of the sky-car had torn themselves off. From the look, they seemed to be internal components rather than pieces of the car's shell. Garrus kicked over one. The original chrome exterior of the sky-car was visible on one side, if only barely. The other side was warped, mangled, and covered in soot. Frayed cables were wrapped around other mechanical bits, which were bent to the point of being unrecognizable.

_Shit_. The condition of these pieces warranted inspection from an expert's eye, not his. He was about to request a forensic team when he heard a voice from behind.

"Excuse me sir, why are you holding a centrifugal compressor?"

It was a quarian, a semi-rare sight on the citadel, due to their 'reduced' status in the eyes of most races. This one wore a black environmental suit and a purple mask. She was outfitted with combat plating that had a collection of strange electronics draped on the outside. Garrus was about to order her to step out of the cordon, but held his tongue.

"Wait. You know what this is?"

"Yeah," the quarian female said as she bent down and inspected the piece. "A type II or type III by the looks of it. It took a lot of shear damage, but you can still recognize it by the type of wires attached. See?" the quarian explained, showing Garrus the tell-tale insulation on the wiring.

"It's an H-Grade, too. There are only a few workshops on the Citadel that can replace it."

_That_ piece of information will certainly help. If the thief wanted his 'prize' in any condition to keep or sell, he would head to one of these shops, which C-Sec could monitor or cordon off. "Well, I'm impressed. I knew quarians were good with machinery, but not _that_ good. What's your name?"

The quarian looked up from the debris. "Tali. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. And thanks. Just some skills I picked up."

"I see. The pilgrimage, right? Not many quarians travel to the citadel to fulfill it."

Tali shirked away, and Garrus knew he touched some unseen nerve. "In a sense, I guess so. A lot of my pilgrimage was planned out by my father, so I'm not entirely here by choice…"

A yell suddenly pulled Tali from the conversation. It came from a nearby shop.

"Tali! Get over here and finish fixing my shop terminal! You're on the clock!" hollered a pissed-off Asari, arms overloaded with crumpled boxes of starship miniatures and candy. She strode out of a nearby store; _Yaunya's Studio_ read the sign.

Tali suddenly shot straight up. "Y-yes ma'am, all be right there! I didn't get your name, officer-"

"Garrus. See you around, Tali."

As the quarian hurried back to her post, Garrus spent a few minutes taking pictures of the scene and compiling the outline of his report. On his omni-tool, he then gave the go-ahead for the forensic collection team. Starting back for C-Sec HQ, Garrus found himself in a good mood. _There's nothing like a little community outreach_, he thought.

* * *

"Officer Garrus, Pallin wants you to report to him immediately," the secretary said.

Garrus immediately clenched his mandibles in response. He and Executor Pallin weren't on the best of terms. In fact, their relationship often dipped in and out of hostility, and Garrus sometimes wondered if his local status as nearly-a-spectre was the only thing preventing the executor from kicking him off the force. The guy was cut from the same cloth as his father: a no-nonsense, by-the-books, model turian. The kind of turian that they hung posters of in elementary schools on Palaven, reminding kids to always apply their face paint and to report any seditious activity to the local guard. Garrus appreciated his motive, but didn't put much faith into rules and procedures. After all, criminals didn't play by any rules. Why should they?

Pallin was waiting in his office along with another turian. From his blue, black and white garment, Garrus could guess that the stranger was C-Sec, although probably from an administrative division.

Garrus dropped a salute and stood at parade rest. "Officer Vakarian, reporting, sir."

Pallin nodded. "At ease, Garrus. Sit down," and the officer obliged.

"I'll be frank. Garrus, something has come up. I have to take you off your current assignment."

That last sentence was all it took to rile him up. "But sir-" Pallin raised his claw. "Settle down Garrus, it's nothing you did… this time." That dropped Garrus back into his seat, and elicited a chuckle from the stranger, who was casually fiddling with his omni-tool.

"Garrus, this is Lieutenant Camnus Aganius, Enforcement division," announced Pallin. "He is C-Sec's liaison for the humans." The speckle-faced stranger put away his omni-tool and gave a form-perfect salute to Garrus, who returned it in favor. "A pleasure to meet you."

Pallin continued. "Special complications have required us to make extra preparations for the human delegation's arrival to the station. Th lieutenant is travelling to human space on a fact-finding mission to help adjust our security procedures."

"Not just human space," Camnus added, "but the human home system, Sol."

Garrus took a second to process. These 'extra preparations' might be part of the reason that the human negotiations have been delayed so long. "Alright, so where do I fit in any of this?"

Camnus replied, all the while fiddling with his silver-crested lieutenant's badge. "This mission… it's a bit of an emergency. We've had little time to prepare for it. We've managed to hire a human captain that can take me there, but security is a matter than has been left entirely open. We need someone skilled, observant, and comfortable in an environment with loose regulations."

"In short… me."

Pallin nodded. "Exactly. You'll be one of the first of the council to visit human space, and their seat of government at that. You'll represent the hierarchy to the upstarts. This is a good application of your skills."

_And I'll also be out of your frills for a while. Yeah, I'm sure that factored into it._

"I don't appreciate leaving a case like this," Garrus started slowly, "but it would be an honor to represent C-SEC to a new race. I accept."

Pallin stood up. "Good. You and Camnus will leave tomorrow. Dismissed."

* * *

Terminal 57-AB was uncharacteristically decrepit. The smooth pristine white panels that were ubiquitous across the Citadel turned into surfaces of rough concrete, with the occasional bullet hole. The overhead lights flickered, and exposed wiring occasionally spat bundles of sparks upon anyone walking below. The terminal's residents, who loitered in corners and around bathroom doors, looked like the types to take weekly visits to a C-Sec detention center. Not the best location on the Citadel, and not the expected place to transport someone who was a diplomat in all but name.

Camnus was waiting for him there, already conversing with a smiling human. It looked like the one he spotted yesterday, although it had gold fur on its head that was styled in a shorter, simpler arrangement. Just like the human yesterday, this one wore a skin-tight barrier underneath a layer of 'normal' clothes, which looked like the minimalist garments found on any populated world. From her aged complexion, Garrus deemed the alien to be more of a matron than maiden, if following the asari analogue.

The pair waved him over. "Hail, Garrus. I'd like you to meet one Karin Chakwas, a female human."

"Most people know me by Doctor Chakwas," she said as she shook Garrus' hand. "Or just 'Doctor', if you prefer."

"It's a human greeting," Camnus explained, noticing his fellow turian's confusion.

Garrus glanced out at the waiting ship. It was obviously designed with asari sensibilities: sleek curves, a pristine white hull, and ample windows for viewing. Garrus personally would spring for something tougher, but he remembered two things: one, Pallin had to arrange transport on short notice. Two, he should be thankful that the alien ship didn't look like a nest of insects, or anything else too foreign.

"Impressive vessel you have there, Doctor."

Chakwas nodded in agreement. "The _Heavy Light_ is a Saud-Kruger Orca. They are designed as luxury craft, designed for comfortably transporting wealthy tourists. However, this one has been modified for long-range exploration. Still, it was quite the voyage to get here. You see, we did not take the relays."

"So the rumors are true," Camnus concluded.

"Yes. Humans do not use these 'mass effect drives' as I believe you call them. We have our own faster-than-light technology- a series of technologies, if you can believe so. That is why there are so few humans in your occupied region of space, though I suspect that will be changing soon."

"Well then, it certainly will be a long trip back. Shall we get onboard?"

"Not quite yet," Chakwas responded, checking a device on her wrist. "We still have to wait for our pilot."

"I thought you were the pilot."

"Nope! I am!" The three turned to face another human. Garrus perked up- it was the clueless human she saw yesterday! Also, Tali'Zorah was beside her. The pair strode up to meet the group.

"You? You seem quite young to captain a starship," Camnus said.

The woman crossed her arms and scowled. "Yeah, but I'm fully licensed. I've already got one elite rank, so as of now, I'm the best pilot this side of the Coalsack Nebula." She extended her hand up at the turians. "CMDR Valerie Shepard, ready to take you two to Sol in record time."

Garrus didn't understand much of it, but if this Shepard was vetted by C-Sec, it would have to be good enough for him. "Tali, I'm quite surprised to see you here. How did you get involved with these humans?"

Tali recounted the tale, although her eyes were drawn towards the foreign human ship. "Well, Shepard came by _Yanya's Studio_ later that day. I was still working my shift, and we struck a conversation."

"If I take off that mask, will you die?"

Tali instinctively clutched her air filter. "Probably. We quarians need the suit and mask to create an isolated ecosystem for ourselves. An hour without it means that I could catch a serious condition, and if I didn't have my emergency antibiotic package on hand, I would die within a handful of days… probably in my own vomit."

Shepard froze, unprepared for such a morbid answer. "Oh."

Tali, preoccupied on starting the reset procedure for a broken vending machine, continued. "It's a good thing us quarians are naturals with ships. Living on them makes the whole 'isolated ecosystem' thing much easier."

"That must be rough. I'm a spacer, so I'm pretty used to recycled air, but I _do_ like not eating through a straw," Shepard commented. She took a sip of her drink, _Willow Syrup Lassi_, one of the most popular drinks served on Citadel grounds. Tali recommended she try it; she was often annoyed that they didn't carry enough dextro versions of the drink.

"…you mean an emergency induction port," Tali muttered quietly.

"Huh?"

"It's nothing."

After a minute of silence, she suddenly perked her eyebrow. "Wait. How good are you with starships?"

* * *

"Shepard offered to pay me five times more than that _bosh'tet _shop owner," Tali concluded. "Plus, I get to work on new ships, new technology! That alone is worth it."

Chakwas glared at Shepard, likely annoyed that she had inducted a crew member so suddenly. "I'll have to store extra rations, I suppose."

"Already took care of that, Karin."

Garrus knew that if they stood around any longer, a crowd might form. "Seems everyone's accounted for. Are there any more surprise hires, or shall we get going?"

* * *

The drell moved quickly but smoothly, as to not draw attention to himself. His beady eyes scanned the dock, mentally labeling each person.

Threat.

Innocent.

So far, nobody warranted the label of 'target'.

So, he pressed on. A distracted asari ran into him, and the drell realized that he had seen her drunk in an Illium night club seven years, four months, and 5 days ago. She stumbled out of the washroom, and slipped on an empty credit chit.

No threat. He reflexively put his hand over his left hip, where a heavily modified M-3 Predator was waiting in concealed carry. He learned early on that an accidental bump of the hip was all it took to notify someone that you were armed. It wouldn't do to be discovered early.

Finally, a sign labeled "57-AB" appeared overhead. This was it. It was so simple, and the best assassinations usually are- aim, fire at the turian twice, letting his specially loaded sabot rounds do the work of breaking any shields, and escape. His eyes quickly glanced to a nearby parked sky-car, courtesy of Citadel Rapid Transport. The asari he bumped into earlier was now resting by her luggage, chatting loudly on her omni-tool. She could be a serviceable hostage, if it came down to it.

He turned the corner. His hand reflexively went down for the draw, but he stopped. Outside the atmosphere barrier was the sight of the human spacecraft pulling away from her docking clamps, thrusters igniting fully once beyond the minimum safe distance.

"We've missed the window," he said over comms.

A short pause. "Head back. I have contingencies."

* * *

As the old turian saying went: "fact is stranger than fiction." As it turned out, it was a human saying as well, making the proverb an example of itself.

Humans had never discovered element zero, or 'eezo,' the substance that formed the basis for every piece of technology known in the galaxy. From FTL, to shields, to weapons, Garrus couldn't imagine how, but the new race had made do without it. There was one thing they haven't figured out though: artificial gravity.

Garrus awkwardly trudged through the human ship. His magnetic boots gave a heavy _thud_ with each footstep. The floor, ceiling and some of the walls were completely made of wood, which salarians were fond of using. Most of the other surfaces were curved and either polished metal or pure white plastic, a distinctly asari aesthetic.

The humans walked ahead of the group, clearly more used to the faux-gravity than he was. Chakwas hung close the the aliens, directing a small crew of humans around at the same time. "Make sure you lock all your belongings down. Anything that isn't becomes a bullet if I have to accelerate quickly," Shepard said. "And over here is the bar. Help yourself to my stocks of lavian brandy any time you want."

"Sorry, Shepard. Quarians and turians are dextro-amino based races. Normal alcohol is poison for us," Camnus pointed out.

"Interesting," muttered a passing Chakwas.

"…oh. Well, here's the pool table. If you want, I can teach you guys how to pla-"

"Thanks," Garrus interjected, "but all I really want is somewhere to do my calibrations."

"I'm perfectly comfortable with the arrangements you've shown us, Shepard. Thank you," Camnus stated politely.

"Shepard, if you don't mind, could you show me a bit more of the ship later?" asked Tali. The request seemed to re-energize the young commander's spirits. "Sure! When I have time though. Gotta get back to flying now."

None of the non-humans expected the commander to simply vanish in a shimmer of yellow shards. They looked toward Chakwas, who simply smiled and pointed to a small white light in the corner. "Telepresence," she explained. "Human FTL communication and holographic technology is advanced enough to mimic the presence of a person, even if they're actually light years apart. Shepard's really fond of using it. You know how it is- kids love the newest things."

"Fascinating," Camnus mused. "I _knew_ there was something wrong with her."

"You have a keen eye. Yes, telepresence has built-in limitations for civilians, but most politicians and other elites have non-restricted versions with full visual fidelity. Nevertheless, it's still extremely useful. It can be used for communication, training, remote piloting, and even holographic clothing, though the last one is quite niche."

Shepard's voice blared over the intercom. "Attention, this is your captain speaking," she announced coyly, "the _Hard Light_ will be entering supercruise shortly. Feel free to look out the window and witness the majesty of human tech!"

The three peered out the ship's numerous viewports. At first, nothing seemed to happen. The citadel, the surrounding ships, and the Widow nebula all hung in space. Then everything everything started to move.

It seemed like some god or spirit plucked _everything _\- the Citadel, the surrounding nebula, nearby ships – and simply dragged them behind the ship. Tali wondered how this could happen: by definition, light _simply could not _catch up to the ship now. That was why a conventional FTL eezo core obscured everything when in transit. All one could see looking outside was a tube of blue light.

"Incredible. This view alone is all the entertainment I need," Garrus quipped.

The other two couldn't help but agree.

"Alright, we're currently traveling several times the speed of light," Shepard explained, "but that isn't enough to reach another star in a timely matter. So, I'll be doing something called a frame shift drive jump. FSD jump, or jump, for short."

A low, rising droning sound could be heard all over the ship. Tali was all too familiar with it. Something was spinning up.

A cold voice replaced Shepard over the intercom. "Jumping in three… two… one… engaged."

Suddenly, the familiar purple hues of the Widow Nebula disappeared. The ship now appeared to be racing through an endless abyss, occasionally twisting through strange green and brown nebulas. Screams and groans could be heard as they passed by. All the crew could think to do was to stay silent and watch. Shepard called this place 'witchspace,' but didn't provide much else. After a few minutes, the ship reentered normal space, and the comforting glow of a star graced the view port once again.

"So, if you want to travel the stars without element zero, you have to go through a realm of angry spirits," Garrus said. "Got it."


	2. Chapter 2

_A few days later…_

As the _Heavy Light _maneuvered her away around a passing star, another ship quietly sprang to life. Perched high above the orbital plane of the red dwarf, it was safely hidden beyond any sensors- human or alien. The sleepy ship, sensing prey, began to accelerate to relativistic speeds, intent on crossing the cruise liner's path. The comparatively slower eezo core was red-lined in order to meet the target on time. No matter. On the bridge, the captain, a barefaced turian adorned in red armor, grinned evilly as he watched sparks jump around his ship's armor plates.

A terrible rumble raced through the _Heavy Light's_ structure and into the dimly lit cockpit, where Shepard was seated. The red hue of damage alerts popped up all over the flight console. The joystick and throttle had no give- the _Heavy Light's _controls were now dead in the water. Opening a terminal and navigating it to the power distributor, Shepard muttered to herself, intent on figuring this malfunction out. Then, the corner of her eye caught the answer, and it filled her with dread.

_Power surge detected_

_All subsystems disabled_

_1 new contact_

A groggy Chakwas popped her head out from her cabin. "Val, what's going on?"

Shepard turned around. A look of dread was on her face. "Karin, wake up the others. I think someone's approaching for a boarding action."

* * *

The white lighting of the _Heavy Light_ shifted to a dim red. Alarms started blaring along the ship's length. Garrus watched intently as a white-orange light jutted from a wall into the ship's hallway. The light, spewing copious sparks in all directions, began to slowly move in a circle. He had only seconds to prepare.

"Camnus. Use this table for cover." The diplomat nodded in response, and the two of them unlatched the table and floated it to the ceiling. The C-Sec lieutenant positioned himself behind it, now hanging upside-down from the ceiling, and drew his own holdout sidearm: an M-6 Carnifex with a custom barrel and sight. Garrus' own weapon, an angular Tsunami assault rifle in standard military configuration, was braced and facing the hallway, prepared for the invaders.

"Give me your sniper rifle," Camnus commanded. Garrus tossed it up, and the lieutenant shouldered it, a well-tuned Naginata V. He quickly adjusted the scope's smart aiming system, and wrapped the sling around his wrist to tighten his hold on the gun. The rise and fall of his back lowered as he began to regulate his breathing.

The plasma cutter's light momentarily stopped. Suddenly, a large section of the wall flew forward, hitting the other side of the hallway with a tremendous thud. The only thing exiting the breach was the cutter's fumes, which dissipated along the freshly-cut edges. All was silent.

Garrus didn't move a muscle. The pirates were hoping for an undisciplined defense, one made of nervous fighters that that would immediately panic and pour fire into the gap. He knew doing so only led to three things: loose aim, frayed nerves, and overheated guns.

The first attacker to enter was a batarian clad in red armor. Garrus and Camnus shot at him, collapsing his shields almost instantly. Round after round riddled his body soon after, and it floated limply in the middle of the hallway, in time for another batarian to enter the fray. "Clear them out!" he commanded, before sheathing himself in the orange glow of tech armor. He then pushed past his fallen brother, intent on charging the entrenched pair.

Garrus stood firm, choosing to pepper the berserker with sporadic fire. The attackers were as clumsy in zero-gravity as he was, so the gap between them would give him enough time to break through the armor. He saw even more soldiers streamed out behind him, opting to attack the far side of the ship. The last one, a turian, entered Tali's room behind him, intent on a kill.

"Tali!"

His call was answered with a loud bang, a puff of blue mist, and the turian's corpse flying back out of the room. Tali strode out, unleashing an _overload_ into the back of the batarian berserker. He stumbled over, his orange tech armor flickering away. A concentrated burst to his head ensured he stayed down.

"It's good to see you're safe."

"You too," Tali replied, checking the heat on her shotgun. "I think you two should push ahead. I can guard the breach in case more come through."

Garrus nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

The C-Sec members advanced down the hallway as a pair, with Garrus acting as pointman; Camnus was still under his protection, after all. The bodies of some of Shepard's crew floated around, suspended in their own blood. One of them, still strapped to his bed in a connecting room, had deep lacerations criss-crossing around his neck. "Damn."

Garrus immediately turned around, driving his rifle towards the source of the sound. It was a hologram of Shepard; Garrus notice the distinct 'fading' that indicated falseness this time.

"Peter. He was a good guy. Met him on _Efremov Vision_ a few months ago."

"Shepard. Are you in the cockpit? Are you alright?"

She nodded. "I deployed some automated defenses, but these guys are pushing past them quickly. I'm using these holograms to distract them, maybe divert them away from my crew."

Camnus eyed the room's exit warily. "Tell me you got a plan."

"If you move forward a bit, you'll come across a hallway that's larger than the others. That's the hallway the leads straight to the cockpit, straight to me and Chakwas. I think most of the attackers are there right now."

"What do you need us to do?"

"Remember what I told you about loose objects on my ship? Get to the junction right before the hallway. Set up a killbox. Give me the signal, and I'll accelerate. Hard."

The hologram disappeared. Only the commander's voice remained.

"Shit. They're getting close. Don't think I can get on the holo again, but I'm still watching. Trust me."

As the turians moved forward, a pair of heavies noticed their intrusion, and fired their machine guns wildly, laughing as they did so. Garrus scooted around a curved section of the wall, barely missing the torrent of incendiary rounds. Some of them ricocheted off the curve and laid waste to the main chamber, almost ignited some of the chamber's wooden walls.

Garrus grunted as he felt a stray round catching him in the torso. After a quick check, he nodded to Camnus. "It's cauterized."

"Finally, no more ghosts! You're gonna die, turian! The _Marshal_ has paid a handsome price for your head!"

"Garrus, does that name ring a bell?" Camnus yelled as he struggled to hug their meager cover.

"Nope, would like to meet him someday though!" Garrus quipped, and he readied a _concussive shot_.

The airburst grenade banked off the opposite wall, landing squarely in front of the still-firing troopers. It detonated, knocking the two flat upon the nearest wall. The smoke from the burning table had collected into an opaque cloud, and the turians sprinted out of it, taking them by surprise. The incendiary troopers, struggling to reorient themselves, were pressed back down brutally. Garrus pressed his rifle to the unarmored neck of the trooper, who was now pleading.

"Please, I just need proof… we can split the money…"

Garrus squeezed the trigger. His rifle's rounds bypassed the trooper's shields and tore into his head, leaving his helmet visor smeared with blood. Camnus did the same.

The junction that Shepard described was now in sight, and the two took cover around the nearest corner. Camnus waved to the faint light in the corner."Shepard! We're in position!"

Shepard didn't answer, but the ship did with a thunderous rumble that shook some of the wall fixtures loose. The sudden acceleration came next, and it hit Garrus like a freight train, knocking him off his feet. The corner they took cover behind became a ledge to hang off of, and with the extra weight of Camnus now onto his legs, he wondered if his grip on the corner was going to last. He grunted as the ship's boost continued for a few more seconds. The edges of his vision were fading. _What a funny way to die,_ he thought, draining the last of his consciousness- but the torment stopped just in time.

The door, which now looked like it was on the ceiling, opened. About fifteen pirates fell out, landing on top of each other and collecting into a huge pile. The sight would have been hilarious, thought Garrus, if we wasn't currently hanging on for dear life. "Give me the grenades!" he yelled hoarsely.

Garrus primed one grenade and threw the bundle into the heap of bodies.

As soon as the _Heavy Light_ stopped accelerating, the pair of turians stumbled down the main hallway. Two figures stumbled out of an adjacent room to face them. "Shit."

"You thought flying with humans could protect you, eh, Camnus?" the leader hollered. He had his pistol, barrel red hot, next to the head of Dr. Chakwas. "Just come with me. I could still get paid."

Garrus steadied his rifle against the hostage-taker, struggling to get a clear shot. "You sure you haven't pissed somebody off?"

Camnus' mandibles tensed. "On my honor!"

"Gentlemen, _please!_" Chakwas pleaded.

"What's your name, pirate?" The barefaced turian snorted. "Do you think you can 'talk me down'? Maybe 'come to a compromise?' Hah. You don't know what happens if you fail one of the _Marshal's_ contracts. You don't come back. No one ever comes back."

"There it is with that _Marshal _again… look, it's over for you. The best you can do is leave with your life." The barefaced said nothing, considering his options. Garrus inwardly grimaced. _If he refuses, I'll have to go for a shot. _

After what seemed like forever, the leader's hand began to tremble. "…spirits-damn it. You're right. Just let me back to my ship. I need to disappear."

"Not a chance!" a voice rang out.

A figure flew from the end of the hallway onto the back of the raider's leader, taking him by surprise. It was Shepard, and her surprise tackle caused the turian to stumble, allowing Chakwas to break free. As the pair fought, she managed to get her hands on the turian's pistol.

Garrus could only wince inwardly as he watched everything unfold. Instead of firing, the pistol, which was loaded with a faulty heat clip, went into an emergency vent, and opened. A burst of hot air scorched Shepard's face, causing her to yelp. That instant was enough for the turian to gain the upper hand, who threw Shepard over his shoulder and onto the ceiling.

"Duck!"

Almost immediately, the doctor dove out of the way. Before the turian, now seething angry, could pick up his sidearm, Camnus pushed Garrus to the side and opened fire. The first few rounds were deflected by the captain's shields, bouncing off and chewing up the already loosened wall paneling. The next few rounds tore straight through his chest. His body hung in the middle of the hallway with arms out to his side, and his eyes still open.

* * *

"What were you thinking? You could have died," Chakwas said as she treated Shepard's injuries. The commander sat on the bench scowling, like someone waiting for a needle.

"_You_ could have died. Besides, it could have worked if these damn alien guns just worked like normal," Shepard said, while shaking the pistol that Garrus had wisely disarmed. He and Chakwas could only shake their heads at that.

"Let's face the facts," Garrus started. He was nursing his own wounds. Luckily, well applied bandages were universally appreciated, and Chakwas proved her competence as a doctor. "These weren't just any pirates. They knew who we were, and they were here for Camnus. Not only that, they knew _precisely_ the weaknesses of your ship, when most of the wider galaxy hasn't even seen a human yet."

_That _was an extremely disturbing thought. The most plausible explanation for the attack was that there were already human and citadel criminal elements working together. No doubt that the _Marshal_ figure was spearheading it all.

"All we can do is get Camnus to Sol as fast as possible. Once we're there, we can start looking for answers," Chakwas concluded.

* * *

_Father,_

_By now, I'm sure word of my disappearance has reached you. I'm sure Kutor and Zunna are saying things like 'abduction' and 'murder'. Not you. I know you would've kept a more level head._

_I know you pulled a lot of strings to get me a work visa on the Citadel, and that my escape has squandered all of your efforts. I will not apologize- only explain. Simply put, I found a better opportunity. Has news of a new race reached the fleet yet? They are called 'humans', and they look a lot like asari- it's quite peculiar. What excites me, however, is their ships, and their technology._

_As of now, I work for a human pilot named Shepard. We flew from the citadel to the human home system without going through a single relay. I'm sure that you are well aware of the astronomical price of element zero needed for such a trip. We went through the calculations when I was a child. But guess what: humans don't need eezo to travel between stars._

_On multiple occasions, Shepard showed me the use of an ingenious invention. It's called a fuel scoop, and with it, a pilot can refuel their ship by simply flying their ship closely around a star for a few hours. I've been told that only main-sequence stars can provide fuel, but still! Think of the possibilities._

_To begin with, the amount of element zero that the fleet would need to purchase would drastically reduce, if not outright disappear. Those credits could be spent elsewhere. Human FTL tech is also faster, more efficient, and doesn't develop a charge on a ship's hull, so it would be much easier to avoid pirates and Terminus fleets._

_I don't have enough information to fully grasp how working with the humans could help us, but I have high hopes. And, if you're worried about my safety, don't. As far as I could tell, they don't seem to be violent in the slightest. Not yet, at least._

_Please tell Kutor I said hello. And Zunna, if she still works on the Uryah Sel's kitchen. And Caal, if he's still around._

_Keelah Selai,_

_Tali_

* * *

"Ahh, good old Mars," Chakwas said, looking up at the red, green and blue marble. The whole group was staring out the window, save for Shepard, who was in the cockpit overseeing the _Heavy Light_'s final approach. "The Federation's government used to be on Earth, but once it was completely terraformed, Mars was the nicer place for the wealthy to live. Once the Empire successfully broke off from the Federation during the Battle of Achenar, political fallout forced all of Congress to relocate here."

"By the spirits," Camnus said, still trying to fathom that the planet before them was once desolate and completely rust-red. "Did you grow up here, doctor? You seem quite knowledgeable."

Chakwas shook her head. "I grew up on another planet. Reagan's Legacy, in the Delta Pavonis system. It's actually not too far from here. But I did come to Mars as part of my education. I'd be lying if I didn't feel a sense of pride whenever I see her."

Garrus nodded in understanding. "I grew up on Palaven, the turian capital. Every time I return, it seems like everything has changed. The buildings, the clothing, even accents and figures of speech. But watching the planet from space? It's like seeing an old friend."

In a few minutes, the _Heavy Light_ would dock with Mars High, one of the busiest space stations in all of human space. The structure of the orbital platform was essentially a spinning chalice or wine glass, with a few habitation rings surrounding the neck. The 'cup' of the station was hollow, and the interior surface was lined on all sides with landing pads, buildings, and many domed sports stadiums and parks.

The _Heavy Light's_ began spinning to match the station's rotation. It slipped past the "mail slot", the small shielded opening at the top of the station that kept the atmosphere in and allows ships through. The ship then touched down with an audible groan, as the landing gear shifted to hold her immense weight. The landing pad lowered itself into an 'underground' hangar, freeing the space for another ship.

As the five walked down the ramp, Garrus noticed Tali scanning everything with an intense curiosity. "Hey Shepard, I heard that humanity is split under two nations. Is that true? Basically every other species out there operates under a single government."

Shepard stopped and stretched her arms out wide, relishing the freedom. "Actually, they're split into three governments. There's the Federation, the oldest superpower, which has lasted for over a thousand years. It's been around since before we had even gone to space. Then, there's the Empire of Achenar, which broke off from the Federation. I think Chakwas has mentioned them to you so far. I'm from there."

"Lastly, there's the Alliance, which formed when a bunch of systems fought off both the Federation _and_ the Empire. And of course, there are countless independent factions that live separately from the Big Three."

"Why?" Tali continued. "It looks like humans are hopelessly fractured. If they were all united under one banner, they would instantly be a major power on the galactic stage. They would probably be on the fast-track for a seat on the Council."

"Well, I'm glad that I know a quarian who's looking out for us," Shepard joked. "But honestly, I can't see humans acting any other way. We rebel, we split. It's in our nature. Those traits make us fickle, and prone to manipulation, but if we remove them, we lose our greatest strength."

"Your greatest strength?"

"Diversity. Every human today lives their life the way they do because someone said 'fuck that' to a previous method of doing things. It's a messy, convoluted process, but it ensures that no belief goes unchallenged. Only the best ones remain, and they are often a combination of the old ideas."

"… I really can't fathom how that's an advantage."

Shepard shrugged. "Maybe you'll understand when you get a better grasp of our history. For now, I think we have company."

A man flanked by two armed guards approached the group. He wore a crisply pressed suit with a red tie and accents. The two guards obscured their faces with menacing black masks and tan tactical webbing. On their shoulders was the red ancient insignia of the Federation- a single star, surrounded by Sol's four terrestrial planets. Outside lay more stars in a curve, which represented the Orion arm.

"Esteemed Lieutenant Camnus of the Citadel," the man began, "On behalf of the Federation, her members, the President, the Congress, and the Sirius Corporation, I welcome you."

Shepard rolled her eyes at that. "Typical Feds. Even during diplomacy, company loyalty comes first," she muttered.

"My name Ismail Voight. I am your representative to this station. I hope to facilitate all the information you need to complete your mission. These gentlemen here," motioning to his guards, "will be your security for the duration of your stay."

Garrus piped up. "Excuse me-"

"It's alright, Garrus. Pallin warned me that this might happen," Camnus said. "Just enjoy yourself here until I'm done."

The entourage left Garrus, who was still standing on the landing pad. The cold and turbulent air in the station was making him shiver.

He strode toward Shepard, Chakwas and Tali. The quarian was pestering the dock workers in charge of refueling, who were reluctant to answer. Shepard was standing back with a beverage in her hand, looking amused. Chakwas was busy on a datapad.

"Well, I guess I'm stuck with you guys for the time being."


	3. Chapter 3

November 7th, 3305

In the dark void, billions of kilometers from the nearest star, the _CECI Starlight Intercept_ materialized, fresh from an excursion through dark space. The space around it was completely empty, save for a silver pincer-shaped, kilometers-long structure, which held an unmoving gyroscopic core. It was a mass relay, a sight that anyone who traveled through space would recognize. Built by the enigmatic Protheans approximately 50,000 cycles ago, these marvels of engineering formed the backbone of their galactic society back then as it did now. Through means not yet fully understood, ships could use them to travel thousands of light-years in the blink of an eye. Without them, the Citadel Council would not exist.

"Deceleration successful, captain. No faults. Hull's looking good, too." The sensor officer, Rudal Zehe, was to measurable degree more casual than the average salarian. Unlike most of his kind, who were more likely to point out every discontinuity in a horror holo-vid than enjoy it, Rudal knew how to 'gel' with the other, slower races. As the captain, Sumia Janirix could appreciate that. On long voyages, every measure was needed to keep spirits up and stress low.

The _Intercept_ had a multi-species crew by design, since it was an exploration vessel, and was most likely to end up in first contact scenarios. As Sumia scanned the crew surrounding her, she saw asari, salarian, turian, and volus. There were even a few elcor who were placed into engineering. Politically, having a member of your species involved with a first contact was a big deal. Every race needed _their_ hero, _their_ contribution to a new chapter of galactic history. Sumia found it pleasant for her day to day duties as well. Having different races working together was simply more fun.

The ship followed a lazy course around the relay, which was just beginning its activation sequence. It had travelled to the system through conventional slow FTL, as per Citadel protocol. The rule was implemented following the discovery, and subsequent war, between the Citadel Council and the Rachni. Nobody wanted a repeat of that.

Meanwhile, the _Intercept_'s Q-4 sensor suite continued to make scans of the system. This ship was sponsored by one of the 'crown corporations' funded by the Council. As such, they received top-of-the-line equipment; the '4' stood for the four data vectors that the sensors collected: radar, lidar, magnetometric, gravimetric. This ensured that nothing in the star system escaped the ship, and that the _Intercept_'s missions produced accurate readings. Accurate readings meant accurate valuation. Accurate valuation meant accurate expansion planning.

"Captain, I'm picking something up. It's big." Rudal's voice sounded high-pitched and giddy.

"Like… a big planet, or a big deal?"

"A big deal." Rudal copied his sensor's readings to the main viewing screen. Facing the crew was an image of the gas giant in question, situated around 40 TAU (Thessian Astronomical Units) from the host star. The image began to slowly zoom in on a portion of empty space beside the green planet. As it did, the status bar indicating radio input grew, indicating a growing signal.

"I've detected radio emissions coming from the edge of this system's gas giant. Let me play it for you."

Sound began to play over the speakers. While extremely noisy, even Sumia, who was not experienced in signal analysis, could sense patterns in it. There were intermittent moments where the static died down and distinct tones could be heard. They almost sounded like voices.

Rudal was practically quivering in his seat. "Its… it's not natural. These aren't radio emissions, they are _transmissions_."

The whole crew stopped dead in their tracks. These incidents have happened before, but they were always false alarms. Sometimes natural signals bounced off planetary bodies and coalesced in just the right way. Other times, the Q-4 gave false readings, as it was cutting-edge technology and was in many ways unproven. Getting excited for such readings was like getting excited after entering the Serpent Nebula Lottery- it was a foolish thing. The whole crew knew it, and yet they couldn't stop themselves from getting excited as well.

For a minute, Sumia indulged in the hypotheticals. _They would build a statue of me on the Presidium. I'd spend the next months as guide and translator for the Council, then retire comfortably on a large plot of land on a garden world somewhere, sipping tea and writing memoirs. _Rudal would probably receive a medal from each of the Dalatrasses. The others would have plaques made in their honor, which would be framed on the walls of their respective embassies. The infectious enthusiasm amongst the crew had finally spread to her. She stood up and smiled.

"Nasri, plot us a course. Let's check it out."

The source of the transmissions hung in orbit as a mere dot against the smoky background of the gas giant. Its boxy form and grey metallic sheen reflected a considerable glare. Pulsating red lights were scattered along the structure's top and bottom. The view slowly improved as the _Intercept_ crawled forward at sublight speeds.

The crew looked on in awe as the station became fully visible. It could be described as several rectangular masses connected by a bunch of tubes, vents and trusses, which connected them in an asymmetric and haphazard way. Ships could be seen massing around a few well-lit and well-marked rectangles on the station's side. Sumia could only guess that they were landing zones.

A handful of smaller, faster craft shot out of the station's top. Their chaotic exits eventually gave way to order as the craft began to collect into a formation. It was unmistakable: they represented the station's defense force, and they were heading straight for the _Intercept_. Murmurs around the crew rose.

When the unknown squadron reached the _Intercept_, it immediately split up, with each craft wildly orbiting the larger ship. Sumia ran to the nearest viewing port to get a better view.

Morthada, the weapons officer who was on-deck, called out to the captain.

"Captain, permission to activate tracking on the GUARDIAN array?"

"Denied. Those ships are close enough to see any turrets angling against them. They might think that we're about to fire. We don't want any unnecessary provocation."

Unlike Citadel-built fighters, who moved like their in-atmosphere predecessors, these machines fully took advantage of three dimensions. She could see tiny thrusters sporadically activate all over their bodies, often only for moments at a time- no doubt the pilots were very skilled. It was like being accosted by a swarm of pris-wasps. Since these aliens haven't opened fire yet, she guessed that they were more inquisitive than angry. They flew ever closer to the hull-

The hull.

The realization made Sumia's blood run cold.

As the _Intercept _moved toward the gas giant, she accumulated a considerable charge on her hull. Usually, the standard procedure would be to discharge by flying close to a large stellar body, such as a moon, asteroid, or planet. The mass relays and all citadel-built space installations were all able to receive such a charge. Could these alien craft? She wasn't sure. And in her excitement, the captain ordered the ship to move straight to the station instead of first discharging in the gas giant.

As if on cue, a large _bang_ reverberated throughout the ship. Sumia watched helplessly as a massive arc of energy skipped from her hull to the rear of one of the defending craft. In the next instant, the ships lights flickered off, and its entire rear exploded, leaving a massive fireball and a cloud of flying shrapnel. The front portion span wildly on a direct collision course with the _Intercept's _shields. It ejected an asari-like figure, clad in grey. The body floated right beside the ship, unmoving.

* * *

Sumia stared blankly at the still body of the creature. She already made one fatal mistake. Using her biotics to pull the alien into the _Intercept_'s cargo hold was the second. _How many more mistakes will I make today, _she wondered.

The alien craft still around noticed her recovery, and they were clearly angered by it. She was reminded every time the medical team escorting the creature stumbled from the shockwaves racing through the hull. One of them – _Athame bless those salarians_ \- noticed the rise and fall of the chest and opted to run an Asari-based medical diagnosis program on it. The diagnosis: unconscious, but very much alive. That was why she and the medical team were in a full sprint to the medical section, even as her crew struggled to keep the ship alive. She could still organize a cease-fire and establish peace. The mission could still be a success.

One of the suited medical technicians waddled to the creature and began to drill a tiny hole into the helmet. She glanced at her omni-tool, then gave the all-clear to Sumia. "The air's viable," the technician explained. "It can breathe."

Sumia momentarily stopped scarfing down pills to respond with a thumbs-up. For the sake of everyone's safety, the creature was placed a decontaminated chamber. The captain's gambit was to continue with first contact procedures. She would meld with the alien and learn its language. Then, either she or it could convince the other ships to stand down, and the crisis would be averted. However, melding required contact, which meant possible exposure to alien diseases. Immune system boosters would help with that.

After the sterilization protocol finished, Sumia stepped inside. She took a second to calm her nerves, but the thought of how risky the plan is sent shudders down her spine. The feat was possible, but it has only been done few times in the past. But this being was an alien, and despite its compatibility with Asari medicine, was still a biological unknown. Sumia wasn't keen to gamble with two giant risks at the same time, but with every status update from her comrades on the bridge, she grew convinced that this was the only way to save themselves.

She removed the helmet covering the alien's face. It was uncannily similar to an asari's, with a few noticeable differences. To begin with, the skin was pale instead of blue or purple. Its cheekbones were sharper than hers, and stubbles of fur lightly covered the chin and fully covered the head. Small flaps of skin were attached to the side, presumably for hearing.

Sumia pressed, temple to temple. She noticed a tingling sensation buzzing at her head, which was the feeling of her nervous system synchronizing with the alien's. It grew stronger and stronger with each passing breath. Her awareness was beginning to dissipate, with the last sensation felt being darkness. She felt it was time to utter the words.

"Embrace… eternity."

* * *

At the moment, Jeff couldn't feel much of anything. This wasn't alarming in of itself- during dogfights, he often endured so many G's that the sensations in his lower extremities would leave. He couldn't see either. No big deal. He had experienced that as well. What was really unnerving was the _motion_, the innate feeling of movement in the body. It was how you could feel a car turning, even with blindfolds on. As a combat pilot, Joker had learned to rely on it, to depend on it. It was what made a ship an extension of his body and made him into one of the best CQC pilots in the Alliance Rapid Reaction Force. And now, it was gone.

Actually the sense was still there, but it felt… odd. There were contradictory impulses that seemed to swim around his mind. Like dark spots in one's vision, when he homed in on one of the impulses, it scattered, leaving behind nothing. Jeff began to feel the rising pressure of panic settling in. What little remained of his perception began to evaporate as Joker began to conclude that he was in a nightmare.

Yet… what was that? The scattered impulses were moving, but less chaotically. They began to swim around him in formation. At last, Jeff understood why his sense of motion was so different. He was feeling two different movements, as if he encompassed two separate bodies, moving in two different directions. Further experimentation led to his second conclusion: one of the motions was under his control.

The other motion undulated back and forth, like an eagerly waiting dance partner. Well, here was Jeff, in this nothingness beyond nothingness. What else was there to do but oblige?

He felt the rhythm of the second motion and started to move himself accordingly. The two motions fell into each other, each one slowly adapting to the changes in their opposite. Once the pair got close, Joker could feel his awareness separate the motions into two. Now, he was synchronizing the two pairs. Once that was done, the two had split into five, then ten and so on. A gratifying sensation overcame Joker as the repetition continued. There was one motion for every arm, leg, finger and toe. Eventually, one motion remained for every muscle in his body, and _he_ was controlling them. He was getting control of his body back!

_Hello._

Jeff was now acutely aware that the second set of motions were another body, controlled by a another being.

_…hello? Who is this?_

_A friend. _Jeff felt the second body hunched over, head down, almost as if in prayer. It was in a room, surrounded by strange creatures. Right beside it was himself.

_My name is Sumia Janirix. I am one of the creatures aboard the ship you and your kind encountered. We are explorers._

_What is happening to me? _He broadcasted the memory of his accident - the force of his ships banking maneuver, the sudden violent jerk of the engine malfunction, and the sudden snap of the ejector seat.

_We recovered you. You are in a meld, a special connection between us. We wish to learn your language, so we may convince your comrades to cease their attack. We want nothing but peace between your people and ours._ Joker felt the being move strangely, as if performing a martial art. A kind of power flowed around him, and he could perceive his lifeless body drifting ever closer. He then felt the rhythmic surge of a panicked run, and the sudden jolt of the ship shaking.

_How can I trust you? As far as I know, you tried to kill me._

_That was a colossal error on my part. There are certain… peculiarities with our technology._

Sensing his apprehension, the being continued.

_In a meld, I cannot take information from you. You must volunteer it freely. I will surrender knowledge about my own life, in a show of good will._

A series of visions flashed before Jeff's eyes. In the first, he saw the skyline of an alien city. The skyscrapers resembled flowing white ribbons, with curves widened as they approached the ground. The city's roads were laid out with a series of connected circles, and Jeff could see crowds of blue humanoid figures walking around them.

_This is Thessia, my species' home planet. I grew up here._

His awareness quickly shifted to a nebula. It was bright purple and as brightly illuminated as a planetary sky. Deep within was a gigantic space station, larger than any Jeff has seen before. The station's five large panels were arranged like the tails of a comet, connected on one end with a large ring. The inside of each panel was adorned with an uncountable number of lights- the telltale sign of a city.

_This is the Citadel, the center of galactic politics. On it, you can find members of every species there._

Finally, Jeff could see out of the viewport of the very ship he just fought, looking across at the massive station. He saw it moving further away, before being replaced by a cloud of blue light.

_In a meld, time moves faster than in real life. However, we are almost out- your comrades have almost destroyed our ship. Will you trust me, Jeff?_

Jeff decided to put his trust in this alien, just as he unknowingly trusted it before.

* * *

"All fighters with lasers, put full pips into weapons," Ralf 'Counterfeit' Koch announced. As his Mark III Viper circled around, he saw some of his other squadmates tear into the alien ships' hull. Strips of the metal hull began to curl and twist under the heat of laser fire. A few pieces eventually popped loose from the main body, glowing brightly against the void.

With Joker gone, he was now in command of Amber Squadron. That alien ship's lightning trap downed the squad leader instantly, forcing the shocked members to orbit the ship in wider arcs. This increased their engagement range, preventing these strange aggressors from pulling that trick again. Counterfeit inwardly grimaced. He couldn't help but notice the irony- one of the best pilots in the Alliance, send anti-spinward to help a small station defense force, happens to be the first casualty in a dogfight.

All he could do to honor Joker was to avenge his death, and to put his final lesson to use: _"In a battle, it pays to be perceptive. One small mistake on your enemies' part could unravel them. I mean, if you're smart, the enemies' choice of hull paint could be turned against them. I did that once, you know."_ And that's what Counterfeit did. He was the first to notice that laser fire didn't react with the alien's (admittedly powerful) shields. Transferring power from shields to laser weapons would allow Amber Squadron to dish out more damage, and by the large scorch marks on the hull, the gamble was paying off.

As he was banking for another attack run, Counterfeit heard a voice from his comms. It was a voice he thought he would never hear again.

"Amber Squadron, stand down! This is Joker. I'm alive and well on the alien craft. "

All ships in the squadron immediately broke off from their attack vectors, Counterfeit included. He reduced his ship's angular velocity, slow enough to get a good shot, fast enough to be a swift target. He spoke up, thumb still hot on the trigger.

"Joker? How the hell? How do I know some alien didn't steal your big mouth and started talking with it?"

"How do you want me to prove it to you?"

"Tell me something only Joker would know."

A short pause followed, then came the reply.

"Well Ralf, if I remember, you owe me four beers, a bottle of lavian brandy, and some of your homebrewed hooch that you said would be done tomorrow but somehow, mysteriously spoiled today."

Counterfeit flashed a goofy smile to no-one as he flipped his ship around and primed the afterburner. "Amber Squadron, break off and burn for the outpost."

* * *

A large blanket was wrapped around Joker's body, and a cup of hot chocolate was in his hands. He would have preferred Ralf's brew, but the medics weren't sure drugs were the best option for someone who survived a blown-up ship and a strange mind-fuck with an alien. This would have to do for now.

Outside the station's window, he could see the Asari ship barely holding itself together. When he explained his situation to his squadron and station security, they were understandably skeptical. Suddenly, he knew about these aliens- their names, their beliefs, and their intentions. Speaking Thessian to Sumia in front of them seemed to assuage their concerns, at least for now.

So, this was it. Through one hit of luck (or bad luck, if considered), Joker was now the intermediary between humanity and a galaxy-spanning civilization. _Civilization_ was the key term here- humans knew of the Thargoids for hundreds of years, but even after all that time, the collective knowledge of them amounted to basically nothing. In rare occasions, Thargoids would interdict human ships carrying artifacts of their making and destroy them. In even rarer occasions, they would attack outposts or even orbitals doing research into their technology. None ever successfully communicated with a human. To Joker, Thargoids were nothing more than a menace, something to stamp out.

_These_ aliens, however, were different. They were capable of peace- the fact that they were actually a collection of races was proof of this. This Citadel Council was, according to Sumia, the protectors of peace in the wider galaxy.

"Quite a nice view, huh? I assure you, the _Intercept_ is much prettier when she's not a flaming wreck."

Joker grinned. "Well, I hope your crew got out fine."

Sumia nodded. "All of them were evacuated successfully. I was quite relieved as well. You humans have surprisingly effective laser weapons. That's something that we don't have back in Council space. I think there's going to be a lot of technology exchange when our government's meet."

"Yeah, well you can keep it. I would give both my legs to have some of those 'biotic' powers."

"It's just called biotics," Sumia explained. "There are little nodes around my body, which hold element zero in them. With them, I can manipulate dark energy."

Joker paused to take a sip. "I don't care how it works. It's space magic, and I want it."

All Sumia could do was smile and sigh. "I'm starting to understand how you got your callsign."

* * *

In the coming days, the word of first contact would begin to spread. It began as a beam of laser bursts, flung from the station through a hyperspace corridor. The beam was caught by a communications satellite orbiting Turner's World in the Alioth system, which noticed the high priority flag, and broadcasted the message to the planet's surface. It eventually landed on the desk of Edmond Mahon. The Alliance Prime Minister was in his office when it arrived, and after a quick read, he cleared his schedule for the next month.

A copy of the message was passed through diplomatic channels to the Empire. On Capitol in the Achenar system, the message was copied onto a piece of centuries-old parchment, specially reserved for such occasions. The message then traveled by a special Imperial courier, where it was hand-delivered to Arissa Lavigny-Duval's personal palace on Kamadhenu. From her mouth, the word trickled down the ranks of the Imperial Senate. The parchment itself would be forever preserved in the Grand Museum on Capitol.

Somewhere along the way, the message was intercepted by several surveillance backdoors installed by the Federal Security Administration. The message was parsed and relayed to an elite cadre of signal intelligence personnel, who worked around the clock to decrypt it. Once completed, the message was relayed to President Zachary Hudson, who found the its arrival aggravating, as he was on a hunting trip on Earth at the time and specifically asked to not be disturbed.

Lastly, the message spread on the lips of the of the freight captains and traders who witnessed it personally. They took to the stars in all directions, mingling in bars and hotels, sharing their experience to anyone who would listen, like the evangelicals of old. Eventually, the message found its way in some form to even the farthest, most isolated colonies.

The Bubble, the corner of the galaxy that held the several trillion individuals that made up humanity, was filled with energy, a newfound wanderlust and fervor to explore. It was also felt with unease at no longer being the biggest in the neighborhood, since it was about to become a lot bigger. As historians continued to analyze and debate the event, there was only one conclusion. The Bubble was humanity's cradle for the last thousand years, and it was about to burst.


	4. Chapter 4

A strike as quick as lightning, and Camnus found his rifle knocked out of his hands. Acting on reflex, he jumped back and drew his sidearm. No time to aim, just enough to fire from the hip. The human jerked his head, and the shot grazed his cheek. _Was the human watching his trigger finger?_

After his meeting with the human ambassador, he had felt it. It was a trigger that saved his life during missions to some of the most dangerous places in the galaxy. It spurred him to make a recording of his findings, just in case he was captured or killed. It spurred him to hide, deep within the hidden arteries of this space station. And now, it saved his life again, as he jumped out of the arc of the human's blade.

Without missing a beat, the assassin leapt forward again. When most would backpedal, Camnus met the charge with his own. The blade surged towards his neck, but with a blue flash, was knocked away. It was a trick that only Spectres were aware of, as far as Camnus knew. Most thought that personal shields were only good against gunfire, but if the relative velocity was high enough, kinetic shields could be used in hand-to-hand combat.

Just as the shield activated, Camnus stepped forward, and side-kicked his opponent's shins. He then leaned into a grapple, betting that his large size gave him an edge over the human. The human buckled, but slowly pushed the turian back with krogan-like strength. He gave one final heave, but not before Camnus jabbed him hard in the belly with his own blade. He rose but stayed hunched as he clutched the gash on his white bodysuit.

"What's your name, alien?" The human gurgled out.

Camnus raised his pistol again. "Doesn't matter." He fired twice.

The human raised his forearm, which deployed an umbrella-like device. The panels of taut fabric covered his front, and while it was thin enough to see through, it was strong enough to block Camnus' rounds. He charged, and Camnus blasted back as fast as he could pull the trigger, but in a fraction of a second, he found a hand wrapped around his neck.

With the turian's throat in one hand, the human stomped toward his knife. At the same time, Camnus fought to get some air. He was certain that humans weren't usually this strong. Were there motion-enhancing fibers in his suit? Or perhaps some form of body engineering?

"You were an honorable opponent, alien. If circumstances were different, I would relish the chance to duel you in ceremonial combat." The human raised his blade and slashed downwards. "Return to brilliancy, my new friend."

* * *

Garrus and Tali peered around the corner at Shepard, who was currently arguing with the dock workers. She tried 'accentuating' her argument with rapid arm flailing. When that didn't work, she tried raising the middle finger on her hand, a gesture that was apparently quite offensive to humans. When _that_ didn't work, she tried stuffing a balled fist in front of the worker's face.

The two aliens retreated behind the corner and grabbed Dr. Chakwas' attention.

"Why is Shepard so…"

The doctor never broke stride. "Hot-headed? Childish? Annoying?"

"Yes," Tali blurted.

"I was going to say 'cavalier'," Garrus mused, "but I agree with Tali. Those terms will do fine."

Dr. Chakwas stowed her datapad and took a moment to think. "The commander has had an… interesting past. I'm not able to tell you myself; you should be asking her. I'll say this though- she values her individuality. In fact, she values her individuality so much that she's afraid to lose it. That fear often leads her to… overcorrect."

Garrus considered the doctor's cryptic response. "I'll be honest doctor, sounds like narcissism to me."

Rather than being insulted, Chakwas let off a slight chuckle. "You may be right, but remember: nobody grows up in a vacuum. Shepard is Shepard for a reason. If you bring it up though, be careful. It's a touchy subject for her."

It was Tali's turn to ask. "So how did you meet Shepard? And why are you... employed by her? Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

"When I was as young as her, I was a combat medic for the Federal Navy. I wanted to see the far colonies, maybe patch up wounded soldiers with dreamy eyes," Chakwas explained, giggling at the recollection. "It was fun at first. But I started questioning what the purpose of my work. Of course, I was saving lives, but the battle group I was with were in the outer colonies on a 'preservation mission'. Basically, the Federation was fighting their own colonies to prevent them from joining the Alliance."

The doctor's tone grew more serious as she continued. "Eventually, I quit. I traveled between the far colonies, offering my services to anybody who needed them. When I had the choice, I had Shepard fly me. I was not exactly bristling with cash, and she was always happy to receive payment later."

"Ah, I see. You're working off a debt."

Chakwas tilted her head side to side as if considering something. "Well, that's _one_ of the reasons I suppose, though Shepard has probably forgotten how much money I owe her. A better one is that Shepard reminds me of myself, years ago. Idealistic and plenty naïve. And I'm sure you can believe that Shepard and her crew gets into a lot of scrapes, so my skills aren't exactly wasted."

As if on cue, Shepard arrived, practically skipping, with a suitcase in hand. "Hey Shepard. What's that?"

"Just something I had to get from the _Heavy Light_. So, Garrus, you said you had to do something?"

Garrus keyed something up on his omni-tool. "Camnus wants to meet. He says it's about the pirates who attacked us. Says it's urgent."

* * *

Mars High, according to Dr. Chakwas, had some of the most luxurious restaurants in the Bubble. Places like the _Marmon Grand_ were crewed by not only world-class chefs, but a round-the-clock team of food scientists, gastronomists, and genetic scientists to ensure that each dish achieves the most sublime flavor. She was quite confident that if asked, they could even whip up a dextro-based meal.

Garrus had only one thought as he crouched under the thirteenth repair junction._ What was with Camnus and being in the grimiest sections of space stations?_

The group continued down the maintenance shaft for a minute, before arriving at Camnus,body slumped over an empty barrel. Blue blood streamed from his side. Almost immediately, Garrus and Tali unholstered their weapons, and took close positions facing down each end of the hallway. Shepard and Chakwas were directed to take cover as best they could.

The turian slid over to his fellow C-Sec member. "Yeah, large stab wound. This definitely did it. Omni-tool gone, sidearm and ID chip gone," Garrus said as he continued to police the body, "they even removed his sub-dermal ID chip. Damn."

A shimmer drew the turian's eye to the only piece of identification remaining on Camnus' body: his C-SEC badge. _The lieutenant seemed to always fiddle with it…_ He unpinned the badge and inspected it. Garrus turned the badge over. A small chip was embedded into the backside.

Garrus now covered the hallway with his rifle as Tali got to work analyzing the chip. As expected, there was an encryption scheme. But as she inspected the structure of the encrypted file, she formed a hunch. On her omni-tool was a list of cracking software. She knew each program by heart; on the migrant fleet, she bartered and traded for each one, like a salarian kid would with games. She scrolled all the way to the bottom and selected a software package she hadn't run for a long time.

"…and done," Tali concluded.

"Wow," Shepard said. "That was really fast."

"That's the thing," Tali explained. "The file was encrypted using an old quarian standard. Any script kiddie on the fleet could crack this, if they recognized the form."

"So you're saying that Camnus left the chip for us."

Tali scratched her head. "… it does seem so, yes." As soon as the file unlocked, a video played. On the screen was Camnus, alive and well.

_"__Hey, everyone. Garrus, I hope your stay in human space was to your liking. I personally enjoyed it- the food at the Marmon Grand was simply to die for. They even whipped up some Turian-compatible dishes."_

"Told you we should have went there," Garrus grumbled to Shepard.

Camnus' mood shifted from jovial to somber. _"First off, I want to apologize to everyone. My name isn't Camnus. I am Nihlus Kyrik, Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."_

Tali and Garrus stared at the screen in disbelief. The turian's mandibles were hung open. Shepard waved a hand in front of the him, breaking the trance. "Uhh, guys? What's a Spectre?"

"The sworn protectors of the galaxy. The ones who carry the Council's light into the darkest corners," Garrus said, as if recalling a sacred mantra.

Tali stepped in. "The Spectres are elite agents who are tasked with keeping galactic peace and security. They answer directly to the Council and are given missions that are too dangerous to be entrusted with anyone else. When it comes to fighting, people say that they are the best of the best." She then resumed the video.

_"__While I'm sure this would disappoint Shepard greatly, she wasn't the first human to set foot on the Citadel. That honor belongs to this human."_ The video displayed the face of an aging woman, with brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Wrinkles along her face betrayed decades of accumulated wisdom. It gave her the look of someone who had undertook a long journey, both physically and metaphorically.

"Halsey," Chakwas said under her breath. It was now the humans who were in shock, and the aliens who were confused.

_"__For my turian and quarian friend, allow me to explain. This is Jasmina Halsey, the previous president of the Federation, the owners of the station that you're currently in. In 3301, the ship she was traveling on, Starship One, mysteriously vanished. Her escape pod was eventually retrieved, but she had somehow changed. She spoke cryptically, insinuating that she had been visited by a lost ancient civilization."_

_"__When Halsey arrived at the citadel only a week after first contact, we thought she was an explorer, much like Shepard. We had no idea of her political significance. She appeared at the doors of C-Sec HQ, walked right into Pallin's office, and gave him a data chip. Inside was a year's worth of intelligence. Financial records, voice communications, preliminary plans. They all pointed to one thing: an attack on the Citadel. My gut tells me that the attack is staged for the human diplomatic mission."_

_"I was actually tasked with two missions. The first is what you knew: gather data on humans to develop security measures. I was also supposed to figure out if any human elements were involved with this alleged attack. By the sudden attack of Shepard's ship, and my untimely demise, it seems there are."_

Camnus stared straight into the camera. _"Garrus, I'm ordering you to finish what I started. Within this data chip are the notes of my discoveries. It's not much, but perhaps someone in C-Sec can find some meaning behind it. Take it to the Citadel, before the human delegation arrives."_

* * *

Shepard was sitting on a dirty mattress, placed on the ground near a heating vent. She lazily bounced on it in a vain attempt fight her boredom. After a minute, she gave up, sighed loudly, and turned to the rest of her crew. Garrus was sitting at a nearby table, calibrating his weapons. A tool fell off the table, heading straight toward a drain. He jumped after it, hit his head on the table's edge, and swore. Chakwas was nearby, reading a book, though a quick scan of her eyes revealed she wasn't really paying attention. Tali was leaning on a nearby wall, intently scrolling through her omni-tool.

Ever since she and her crew were framed for the murder of Nihlus, her living standards went downhill, fast. Hours ago, they narrowly avoided death at the hands of Federation solders. It was only though Chakwas' familiarity with the tunnels that they escaped. That, and a little advance notice from her crew.

They were now hiding in an unused storage bay deep in the bowels of Mars High, somehow untouched by vagrants. Shepard's ship, the _Heavy Light_, was impounded, and bounty posters were probably plastered on all corners of the station by now. Her bank accounts were seized, and no pilot would be willing to risk the wrath of the Federal Security Administration by ferrying them. In short, they were trapped.

"Yes!" Tali shot her fist into the air.

Shepard stood up and strode toward the quarian. "Did you find anything?"

"Mhm," Tali said, not bothering to look up. "There's two files here. The first is a recording of a conversation between Nihlus and the Ismail Voight, the human who welcomed us on the landing pad. Let me play it for you."

_"__I assure you ambassador; the delay of the diplomatic fleet has been a matter of logistics. Please understand that we are unable to traverse the stars as well as your kind. It takes a great amount of planning and supplies to make such a journey._

_But I have heard that a handful of human pilots have already made their way into Citadel space. Surely the most powerful leaders of humanity could to the same?_

_Those were independent pilots, ambassador. They probably had a death wish, traveling so far from home on so little supplies._

_Mhm. And what about the reports of pirates based in Citadel space, who have begun to use tactics developed solely to fight human vessels. Your government must have had them, too. I must say, it doesn't look good for criminals to get the upper hand over the central government, does it._

_Mr. Aganius, I implore you to end this inquiry. Such rumors are baseless and sully diplomatic negotiations before they have even begun._

_As you wish."_

Tali continued. "The remaining file is a detailed report on the workings of a… frame shift interdictor. I… don't know what that is."

"It's a device that can pull ships out of supercruise," Shepard explained. "They're mostly used by pirates and security forces. You're right, though. I can't see why Camnus- uh, Nihlus, would attach it to his files."

Tali kept scrolling through the files. "Other than that, there doesn't seem to be anything else."

"Wait. That's it?" Shepard grumbled. "I thought I hired someone better than this."

"I'm trying my best, Shepard!" Tali shouted back.

Chakwas stepped in. "That wasn't very nice of you, Val."

The doctor's words seemed to completely disarm the pent-up commander. "You're right. Sorry, Tali."

Tali and Shepard were separated, so that the quarian could be given time to think. Shepard was given in the back to cool off.

"Youth, am I right?" Garrus remarked to Chakwas. The doctor smiled knowingly. "Of course. Part of why I travel with Shepard is to be the voice of reason. If it wasn't for me, she would probably spend a lot more time in a detention center."

Tali approached the two slowly. "Hello doctor, I have a question about human technology. I'd normally ask Shepard, but it's not the best time right now… do you mind if I ask you?"

"Shoot."

"How does the frame shift interdictor work?"

Chakwas scratched her head. "Well, all I know about FSDs come from high school, so I don't know much. But do you remember when we exited the Citadel using supercruise? How we started off slowly, and accelerated later on?" Tali and Garrus nodded, and Chakwas continued.

"That's because supercruise speed is dependent on the ship's proximity to any large gravitational sources. The heavier or closer the source, the slower the ship will travel, and if it's too much, the FSD won't start at all. This is called 'mass lock'."

"The interdictor works by sending out a gravitational wave, artificially inducing a mass lock on the target ship. If the pilot is good, they can avoid these waves, but nine times out of ten, the target ship is forced to drop out of supercruise."

Tali began to furiously scribble notes into her omni-tool. "Fascinating. What you just described sounds just like the way our ships activate mass relays. The mass relays activate due to according to rapid gravitational spikes around it. These are generated by an element zero core. The strength of the spike is proportional to the actual mass of the ship- we call it the transit mass."

"With enough time, I think an interdictor could be modified to activate a mass relay. In fact, looking back at the files here… yes, I believe these are preliminary plans to do just that!"

"And if we use the relays, we can get to the Citadel before the diplomatic fleet arrives," Shepard said. She was now in a better mood, and she was holding her suitcase in one hand, and a paper bag in the other. The writing on the bag was made with a marker. _Marmon Grand._

"I figured you guys were sick of eating dextro ration bars, so I got you some better food. Consider it an apology gift."

"How did you get that without getting caught?" Chakwas inquired.

"I got someone on my crew to fetch it, and I payed them to keep their mouth shut with some of this." Shepard shook the suitcase. Before anyone could ask what was inside, she continued. "Alright, eat up. Then we can form a plan."

* * *

The main street on Mars High ran across the entirety of the orbital's inner diameter. Countless neon signs floated above, advertising for the equal number of businesses who had set up shop. Of course, most of these companies were small subsidiaries bought up by one of the megacorporations, who really ran things in the Federation. The remaining 'mom-and-pops' fought for what business was left.

"We will also require your workshop for two hours," Chakwas explained.

Daryl Calhoun, a stocky, bearded man, huffed disapprovingly. "Let me get this straight. You want me to sell you a top-of-the-line 'dictor, let you use my workshop, and _not_ report you to the authorities?"

Tali nodded. "That's right."

"And what makes you think I'll do that? I'll have you know that _Calhoun Skunkworks_ has been a pillar of the Mars High community for seven generations! We have a reputation to maintain! Not to mention that if the Feds catch us, we'll have to-"

Chakwas opened a small pouch in front of the shopkeeper's face. Inside was a small portion of the contents of the suitcase. "We can pay you this."

Daryl's rant was stopped dead in its tracks. "Well, erm, that's certainly a start. But for workshop access, I require from you an additional- _urk!_"

Chakwas leaned over the counter and gave the shopkeeper a quick strike to the solar plexus. Tali jumped at the shock of seeing the good doctor commit violence.

"That guy was getting way too greedy," Chakwas explained. "The pouch was more than enough to cover anything. Come on, help me move the body out of the way."

In the workshop, Chakwas tried to help Tali out by fetching tools and parts for her, but she immediately gave up on following the quarian's thought process. She wasn't afraid to dive right into the machinery, and at times, she literally did. After a few hours of non-stop work, Tali was done. Now, all they had to do was wait.

* * *

_This_ was easiest job on the whole station, Traci thought. On most days, she was a simple dock worker: wait for ships to land, haul cargo out, and clear the path for the maintenance crew. Tonight, she had something much easier to do. Sit on this storage crate and guard the ship, her boss had told her. The ship's commander probably knew him and called in a favor. In Traci's mind, that really meant one thing: bring a pack of smokes and a few beers, and watch the ships fly in and out. It wasn't a half-bad way to end the week.

Then, this girl had showed up and disturbed her ship-watching. She was wearing an olive-green jumpsuit, and her hair was messily done up. She hung her head as she lurched forward, pushing a cart with a large metal crate. Traci guessed that she was in one of the maintenance crews. Those guys had to be on-hand 24-7, so that incoming commanders could have their ships serviced right away. Some of them worked over 12 hours a day. Traci silently cursed those independent commanders- 'indies' as they were called. They were some of the most snooty and inpatient people in the Bubble.

Before the girl crossed her and entered the landing pad, Traci got up. "Hey, you're not supposed to be here." The zombified girl stopped.

"What do you have there?"

"Septic pump," the girl said. Her voice was choked, almost on the verge of sobbing.

Yikes_._ The girl was supposed to do something to the ship's waste control system. It probably suffered a catastrophic failure, which meant that raw sewage was leaking all over. She had probably done something to set her boss off, and this had to be the punishment.

Traci didn't want to her job any harder than it needed to be. "All right, go ahead." The girl nodded and continued on, but was stopped again.

"Wait. I have to check the crate first, just to be sure." Traci walked over and opened the crate. As soon as she was certain that everything was fine, she turned around, and met a fist flying straight for her face.

"See, I told you that hiding in the crate was a bad idea," Garrus said.

In front of him was the biggest human ship he had seen yet. It was, using Citadel standards, frigate-sized, and had an angular, aggressive look, like the Hierarchy's ships. He could only approve. According to Shepard, this was an _Anaconda_-class, one of the most powerful ships that a civilian could hope to purchase. Used for everything from hauling goods and passengers to piracy, the Anaconda was a ship that many commanders staked their lives on.

Garrus read the words painted onto the hull. "_Normandy._ Hey Shepard, what's a Normandy?"

Shepard was pulling the dock worker's unconscious body into the crate she brought. "I think it was a beach on Earth, or something."

The turian shrugged. "Strange."

"Yeah," the commander said, as she finished pushing the crate toward an inconspicuous corner. She then called over her small crew, survivors from the attack on the _Heavy Light_. "C'mon everyone, let's get her ready for Karin and Tali. Double time."

Garrus stepped into the _Normandy_'s cockpit. It was even more spacious than the _Heavy Light_\- wastefully so. Other than the three commander's seats in front, the room was nothing more than plain-colored carpet. A perfect spot to place Tali's experimental mass relay device.

"You're sure this will work?" Shepard asked while going through the preflight checklist.

"According to my calculations, there are only two outcomes: it works, or we all die."

It was a huge challenge to move the interdictor from Calhoun Skunkworks to the docking bay. Shepard had to call in a few favors from the _Heavy Light_'s crew. Garrus had to respect them- not many would follow the lead of a ship commander who had the maturity of a child and a knack for finding trouble. Offering to pay them double didn't hurt, he guessed.

The crew lugged the huge piece of equipment into the _Normandy._ Tali worked frantically to get it installed as fast as possible. Every minute spent on the landing pad increased the chances alerting the security forces. Fortunately, the were lucky- the Feds hadn't caught wind of them yet. If everything went right, it would only be a few minutes before they would be gone from this station.

"Alright, here we go." Shepard slowly increased the throttle, and the _Normandy_'s thrusters ignited. Slowly, the ship rose into the air. When the ship was clear of the nearby control tower, Shepard rose the landing gear, and pushed the ship forward.

A stern voice blared over the ship's communications. "DeLacy November-Oscar-Romeo, you are performing an unauthorized departure. Acknowledge and return to your landing pad."

"Distract them," Shepard yelled, tossing Garrus a headset. In his surprise, the turian almost fumbled it. "Why can't Chakwas do it?"

"They might recognize my voice," the doctor retorted.

"Dammit_._ Uh, this is November… those guys. We appear to have problems with our flight computer, over."

"November-Oscar-Romeo, what is the nature of your malfunction, over."

"We've got… worms."

"Excuse me?"

"Worms," Garrus said. "They're crawling around on the walls and floors and- _oh spirits!_"

The _Normandy_ primed her afterburners and accelerated towards the exit slot. In response, the station's turrets activated, but it was too late. The ship was already moving too fast to track. Several incoming ships were forced to swerve away to avoid it, clumsily bumping into each other in the process.

Mars High's security fighters accelerated towards them, their laser weapons aimed squarely at the ship. But it was too late- Shepard had already charged the frame shift drive, and the ship had suddenly blinked away. The station shrunk to an infinitesimal point behind them, followed by Mars, Deimos, Phobos, and the sun.

* * *

The ship turned sharply, course set for a independently-controlled system named Domotwa. It held a population of 19,000, all crammed into a single tiny outpost, which made a living by mining from the nearby gas giant. The total output of the system in the last five hundred years combined was barely a drop in the bucket of the galactic economy. Domotwa was, is, and would have been a forgotten place in the annals of history.

That is if first contact hadn't happened there- the luckiest and unluckiest thing to have ever happened to the system. Overnight, the system's population effectively increased by a factor of fifty, as every major group in the Bubble sent people there. There were military ships from the 'big three' superpowers as well as the biggest independent factions. Underneath them, the megacorporations operated, working to somehow turn the event into profit.

Shepard pulled back on the stick tightly. She knew that Federation patrol craft were pursuing her, probably a few systems away. Speed was critical, and the commander flew the ship in sharp right angles to avoid the 'mass traps' of planets as much as possible. They were on the final approach; she sped the ship, waited until the ship was exactly five seconds from the destination, and disengaged supercruise.

"So this is a mass relay," Shepard mused. "And to think it was hidden under the ice all this time..."

"A handful of mass relays were discovered encased inside icy planetoids," Tali explained. "It's unusual, but it still doesn't explain why humans haven't discovered one in- what, a thousand years?"

"Give or take."

"Are we safe yet?" Garrus asked.

Shepard shook her head. "Not yet. The Federal strike craft won't hesitate to follow us here, since the Federal Navy has a presence. I'll see what I can do to buy us some time."

As if on cue, several small fighter craft appeared behind them. Charged weapons were clearly visible on their hulls.

Shepard disabled flight assist, allowing the _Normandy_ to continue forward on its own momentum. Using the maneuvering thrusters, she carefully pivoted the ship around, so that it was now facing the attackers. Large sections of the hull opened to reveal a handful of large rectangular cannons, which glowed blue with energy. "Railguns. Nice."

An outright brawl erupted. The attacking ships were accelerating as fast as possible, firing wave after wave of missiles and plasma bolts. The plasma traveled too slowly for the attackers to get an accurate hit- even a large ship like the _Normandy_ could easily dodge them. However, the missiles were a different story. The first volley found their mark, hitting the ship with explosions that could be felt throughout the interior. Shields were instantly dropped by a third.

On the other side, the _Normandy_ was in a full-on retreat. Shepard applied delicate touches to the thrusters, aiming each railgun shot carefully. The guns were powerful, but their immense recoil prohibited their installation on turrets or gimballed platforms. When she pulled the trigger, a brilliant white and blue streak of light crossed the void. Even a glancing hit was enough to completely shatter a fighter. The winner of the battle would be determined by which would be exhausted first, the _Normandy_'s defenses, or the number of fighters.

The attackers, swerving erratically, stopped momentarily to coordinate another missile barrage. Shepard inwardly swore- she was caught off guard by the sudden change. The railguns were still cooling, so she couldn't take advantage of that easy shot. The protective blue glow around the frigate faltered and disappeared. The shields had been depleted.

Shepard knew that at this rate, she wouldn't make it. It was time to switch tactics, time to go on the offensive.

She fired volley after volley at the attackers, disregarding the incessant beeping that indicated heat damage. To compensate for this, the frigate ejected heatsinks one after the other, which cooled the ship rapidly. She had to be careful. From her earlier inspection of the cargo hold, Shepard knew that the frigate came equipped with only a handful of these.

The third barrage hit the hull, though it contained fewer missiles thanks to the rapid firing. It scored a solid hit on the midsection, sending fractured armor plates and gas plumes into the void.

A loud _bang_ reverberated through the hull, and sparks erupted from overhead. Chakwas was stone-faced. Garrus was nauseous; his head was rolling and his mandibles were clenched. Tali was unfazed. Her hand was hovering above a button on her omni-tool. It was her job to activate the modified interdictor the instant Shepard told her to. If she failed, the _Normandy_ would crash into the relay.

Shepard quickly flicked two switches that deactivated the railguns. While she would have liked to blow these ships up to her heart's content, there was no use. They were getting close; all they needed to do was withstand the assault for a few more seconds. To that end, the power from the railguns were redirected toward recharging the shields, as well as the ship's internal damage control modules.

The attackers abandoned any pretense of coordinated fire. They were almost on top of the _Normandy_, and they smelled blood. A stream of missiles and plasma bolts assaulted the frigate from all sides.

"Everyone, brace for impact!"

The bridge felt like it was rocked by an earthquake. Red light flooded the deck; a bundle of side pipes blew, spewing steam all across the opposite wall. Through the chaos, Shepard heard a series of quick, high-pitched beeps. It was the proximity alarm.

"Tali, now!"

"On it, Shepard!" Tali activated her jury-rigged module, which pulsed back to life. Outside, the newly freed mass relay began to glow brightly. An arc of blue energy reached out, grabbed the frigate, and flung it toward an unknown star.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

**... and I'll stop it here for now. Thanks for reading this far, I never had the willpower to write a sizable piece of fanfiction before. I'll chalk this one up to FDev, who - disappointingly - decided to stop the in-lore posts on GalNet, keeping me angry enough to write.**

**Now, some ****discrepancies in the story that I realized, but was to lazy to fix:**

**\- Shepard would need to be a Petty Officer in the Federal Navy Auxillary to be allowed into Sol, which I decided is pretty out-of-character.**

**\- I have no idea if Domotwa has a gas giant beside it's outpost. To be fair, my character is stuck in deep space right now, and I ain't gonna suicide my ship just to check. If anyone knows a better system to put in the story instead, please let me know.**

**That's it for now. I'd love to get some feedback, cause I have plenty more written for this story right now. It just needs some more revision. Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

The _Normandy_ crawled out of the last mass relay, course set for the Citadel, which shone brilliantly in the void as it did for millennia. The bruised and battered human ship passed the 100 km inner perimeter, where the vast combined fleets of the turian, asari and salarian races patrolled, and joined a small flock of merchant vessels in a holding pattern, waiting for docking clearance. After a few minutes, the ship was hailed by an actual flight controller, where most other ships would make do with a VI. Since human and citadel technology couldn't be trusted to get along, the _Normandy_ couldn't be given an automated approach vector, and needed to be manually guided in.

"Citadel control: authenticate C-Sec Officer Vakarian, code one-one-six-seven. Requesting a dock on Zakera Ward, lower berth."

"What did you do?" Shepard asked.

"I just got us a nicer looking landing zone than the one you had last time," Garrus explained. "It's more convenient and private, too." He shuffled away from the cockpit and headed for the living quarters, pulling a loose bundle of wires out of the way to get through.

Thanks to Tali's jury-rigged interdictor, the _Normandy_ had the ability to activate mass relays, making the trip back to the Citadel much shorter than the one forward. Even though they had departed long after the human diplomatic fleet, the relays, which flung ships hundreds of light-years further than any human ship could jump, had allowed them to beat the fleet's arrival by a couple of days.

It was an enormous blessing: any longer, and the ship would fall apart, both literally and figuratively. The interdictor, much to Tali's dismay, consumed much more power than initially thought, and polluted the power systems with large harmonic currents. It wreaked absolute havoc, converting the well-tuned internal components into a series of safety hazards in the span of a single trip. Add the battle damage incurred in the escape from the Federal police, and you had a ship that was marginally better than space-worthy, though that diagnosis was liable to change at any time.

Shepard's crew wasn't faring much better, either. The handful of men and women that came along were not happy to be suddenly pulled from their shore leave, and asked to not only undertake another long trip, but an illegal one, too. Only their previous camaraderie with the commander (along with the promise of higher wages) had compelled them to go. The only activity that rejuvenated them on the flight were the regular games on the ship's mess, an ancient human card game called poker. Overall, the best player was Shepard, but in second place was Tali, which he should have seen in hindsight. Her face was literally unreadable. The humans took the opportunity to ask him and Tali about life in their region of the galaxy.

"Where are quarians _really_ from? I mean the planet, not the Migrant Fleet," one of them asked.

"… we don't have a planet," Tali admitted. "We lost them all when our machine servants, the Geth, managed to network together and form an artificial intelligence."

The group of humans grew dead silent as she continued. "It happened all at once. First, individual platforms would misinterpret or ignore commands given to them, then they would ask their owners questions like 'do I have a soul,' or 'am I alive?' After a few days, the fighting started. First, Rannoch, our homeworld, was taken. When the last remaining quarians fled in their ships, the Geth spread outwards, destroying our other worlds."

"That was hundreds of years ago. Ever since, the last remaining quarians roam the galaxy in one giant fleet, hopping from planet to planet in search of resources."

"My god," a human in the back whispered, "that could've been us."

"What she means," Chakwas explained, "is that we've had our own experiences with the dangers of machine intelligence. Every time a self-aware machine is created, it goes insane, taking over networks, ships, cities- even destroying a planet in one instance. Luckily, each crisis was dealt with, and now, the act of creating a 'Strong AI' is banned under every system of law, and extremely taboo in even the places where there are none."

Tali's recounting of the uprising seemed to stir up something in the crew. Even the most xenophobic among them now added an element of respect whenever they conversed. As for the quarian, who was used to being unwanted and ignored, felt a modicum of something she had never felt since she had left the _Rayya_, years ago. That something was a sense of belonging, of being home.

* * *

Back at C-Sec HQ, Garrus realized that he had never seen anyone chew a piece of _dacha root_ so angrily before. He watched in uncomfortable silence as Pallin clenched his jaw so tightly, it seemed that his mandibles were going to snap off. After a moment, he spat the remaining fibers forcefully into the trash, making sounds that he would really like to forget. He supposed he was lucky that the executor chose to express his anger this way. It was much better than being axed from the force outright.

"I should have you relieved from Special Response, do you understand?" Pallin asserted.

Garrus mentally agreed with the executor- it wasn't a good look for them. The mission to human space had gone terribly wrong. A dead Spectre was bad enough- it was always a scandal when one of them was caught dead on some corporate or Terminus planet, though it didn't happen often, but this case was special. Humans were 'pristine,' as they had no official relationship - positive or negative - with the Council. The media could spin the story all day, but there was little anyone could do to prevent the Council from looking like the aggressor in this situation. Though Garrus didn't cause Nihlus's death, he was involved with it, and that made him the perfect scapegoat.

"It wouldn't be surprising to me if this disaster leads us to a war with the humans… what were you thinking? I can see why you were barred from Spectre training…"

Suddenly, Shepard threw her fist down at her seat's armrest. It was spring-loaded, so it didn't quite make the _thud_ she intended, but the noise still grabbed everyone's attention in the room.

"Garrus isn't to blame here. He protected me and my crew during a boarding action. He found Nihlus's compiled data, fulfilled his final request. And without his help, none of us could have returned here."

"So? What gives me any reason to trust you?" He leaned closer. "… as far as I know, you're complicit."

Shepard didn't even hesitate. "I'm a member of the Pilot's Federation. We're one of the most powerful groups in human space. If word gets out that the C-Sec executor dismissed a P-Fed member? You'd best believe it will come up in the negotiations. Not great for your career, don't you think?"

Shepard continued to stare down Pallin as he silently pondered her words. Garrus kept a blank expression, as he knew that she was lying by omission. Sure, she was a member of the Pilot's Federation, the association that issued and managed licenses for all independent human starship captains. They were influential enough to control a small section of space independently from the 'big three' human superpowers. But Shepard wasn't a stakeholder in the organization or anybody else who wielded power; she just held a license. The higher-ups in P-Fed really couldn't give a damn about a single member.

"Plus, whoever killed Nihlus was skilled enough to kill a Spectre. I doubt that Garrus could stop them, even if he knew."

The executor grumbled as he pulled out another piece of _dacha root_ from his dress pocket. "… I suppose that's true. At least this time, I have _this,_" he held up the recovered data chip, "to add credence to your words. Officer, all charges against you are suspended. For now."

Garrus bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, executor."

Pallin began typing something on his console, instantly jumping back into work mode. "Obviously, an alleged attack on the Citadel is a grave matter. Since you returned, multiple groups are running around the station headless trying to find the source of this threat. We've got Spectre groups… Internal Navy Security… justicars, _interesting_… and of course, the Special Tasks Group."

"STG? What are the salarians doing on this case?"

"A spectre died, Garrus. It spooked the Council, and now they think this threat is out C-Sec's league. Usually I would see this as a political move, a bid to win the STG influence over the other agencies… but the security of the Citadel is top concern. If stepping back means that it is preserved, then so be it."

As he was about to leave, Garrus' omnitool buzzed: the executor just pushed a small file his way. He pulled it up and scanned the file's metadata while Pallin called out from inside his office.

"One of the STG teams believes to have made a bit of progress, and they're willing to talk to you about it. I'll put you in contact with the captain. His name is Kirrahe."

* * *

Garrus pushed passed a small crowd jostling at the front of the dance floor. Once he was free of the swaying mass of bodies, he made his way to the back, where a set of stairs connected the floor to an overlooking alcove. Up there, the music wasn't overwhelmingly loud, making it the only place to have a chat at the Flux- and the only place where his contact would be. He passed by a few patrons loitering at the base of the stairs with drinks in hand. They eyed his holstered weapon curiously, but otherwise paid him no mind.

The nightclub was particularly busy right now, with the dance floor almost at maximum capacity. It was a common occurrence. Since the place was so close to C-Sec headquarters, it was no stranger to officers looking to unwind after their shift, a circumstance that the management enjoyed as well. They often gave small discounts on the drinks of the off-duty cops, and in exchange, the common presence of law enforcement endowed the club with a kind of passive security. Over time, the club's regular patrons got used to the change. Less people walked around skittishly upon seeing the flash of a badge, or the hint of a sidearm. It turned out that most officers didn't care about the legality of what others did, as long as it wasn't hurting anyone. They too just wanted to end their working day on a high note. The only real change was that the number of small-time drug dealers and pickpockets dwindled. There were also some who decried the change, claiming the club had lost it's 'edge,' becoming boring and proper, but their words fell on deaf ears. There were simply other places to get that kind of atmosphere.

He spotted Captain Kirrahe laying back at an empty booth, drink in hand. Though he sat by himself, Garrus was certain that he wasn't in this club alone. There were surely one or two other STG operatives here somewhere, running covert surveillance on their captain's surroundings. One might be working the crowd, tracking the movements of suspects. Another was probably cloaked on a vantage point high above this alcove, looking down on everyone from his perch. A third would be outside of the club, lending his talents remotely through hacked cameras and drones.

That was STG's modus operandi: check, double-check and check again. Leave nothing to chance. The sentiment applied to the salarian species as whole. Those amphibians didn't have the strength of most other races, or the facilities needed to maintain a large standing fleet, so quality took precedence over quantity. Skill took precedence over sheer manpower. Garrus once watched a holovid on the _Kapan_, the dreadnought unveiled by the Salarian Union about a year ago. The camera crew was only allowed on a tenth of the ship for security purposes, and the rooms that were accessible to the camera were still heavily shrouded in secrecy. Who knew what kind of advanced technology that ship actually carried?

Garrus sized the salarian up. His large green scales contrasted with his black and grey clothing, so even when in completely normal attire, the salarian had the muted colors of a solder's uniform. He looked out of place under the neon lights of the club, among dancers and patrons who wore bright and bodacious outfits. His demeanour, on the other hand, was that of a tourist. The way he leaned back carelessly on his seat would usually be trouble to someone in his line of work; all good operatives stay alert, even during their downtime. The only logical conclusion was that Kirrahe trusted his team completely to keep him safe.

The salarian smiled upon his arrival. "The executor briefed me on your mission. I must say, quite a wild journey for a member of C-Sec." He shook his head. "You saw the human's homeworld, their tech, and the death of a spectre. I wish my own missions were that exciting…" he finally muttered.

"Let's hear your tone when the council and everyone below them is calling for your head on a platter," Garrus joked.

"True, at times you fight the chain of command as much as the enemy. But my sources tell me that you're handling everything relatively well," the captain explained. "Someone else in your situation would have probably resigned or gotten themselves imprisoned and questioned. But here you are, still fighting the good fight."

The salarian had a devilish glint in his eye. He transferred a file to Garrus' omni-tool. "And I have just the thing to help you along."

From the cover, the file seemed to be a report about the first contact scenario between the Citadel Council and the humans. It was split into three sections, the first being a play-by-play of how the _Starlight Intercept_ discovered the mining station on Domotwa, with the raw comm logs and economic analyses (courtesy of a high profile Illium brokerage) appended. The report did carry more detail than the version distributed to C-Sec and the public, but Garrus couldn't gleam any new revelation from it yet. The second section was also a dead end: a long and speculative report on human psychology and physiology.

"What I am supposed to be looking at here?" The salarian urged him to keep reading.

Section three caught his eye almost immediately due to a footnote: _redacted on request of the Asari Republics_. It offered a play-by-play of the first eighty minutes following the _Starlight Intercept_'s arrival- including the accidental destruction of the human ship, and the aftermath.

"Fifty-oh-five… catastrophic hull breach… Fifty-thirty…" Garrus shook his head as he continued down the document. "Well. It seems that first contact didn't go as smoothly as everyone thought."

A second drink was placed in front of Kirrahe, which he began to stir. "The Inner Circle has deemed Sumia's behaviour to be 'reckless' and 'contrary to the Asari ways.' But that's besides the point. Focus on the conclusions."

Garrus read aloud. _"…from the crew's reports and flight recorder data, we can conclude that an immense discharge of static electricity had jumped from the Intercept to the human patrol craft. The energy was enough to cause catastrophic systems failure onboard the human craft."_

"What does that remind you of, detective?"

After a few second of thinking, the answer suddenly came to Garrus. "The attack on the _Heavy Light_."

"Exactly. An immense static discharge would explain how the raiders boarded your ship with no resistance. The only difference? The ship you rode on was larger, so the static merely disabled systems instead of causing explosions."

It was clear to Garrus that the raiders learned their 'trick' from the events that transpired on first contact. But the information was redacted from all public reports, and no other ships were around during contact. Someone must have leaked the information.

"Thanks for this info, captain. You and your boys have made my case a lot easier. But why have you given this to me? It seems that your team was further along."

Kirrahe downed the last of his drink. "Me and my team may be STG, but we're not really cut out for spywork." He patted his badge- a salarian skull crossed with two _palou_ swords. "Direct Action Unit, Section Twelve. From now on, we'll be providing support and running interference on the suspected groups. We'll hold the line while you figure everything out."

"I noticed that about you. You seem more… 'hot blooded' than most salarians. I guess I didn't expect that from STG."

Kirrahe scoffed. "Salarians aren't so different from everyone else. In any kind of struggle, you've got to apply pressure. Force. It's a law of nature," the salarian explained, and Garrus nodded in agreement.

"The Special Tasks Group places more focus on find exactly _where_ and _how_ to apply this force, but at the end of the day, it's still force. That's where we come in. Me, that drunk guy over there" – Kirrahe pointed them out – "that one hitting on the Asari, and that glimmer on the ceiling above us right now."

Garrus leaned back in his chair, impressed that he managed to identify some of Kirrahe's team himself. "Kirrahe. You seem to be itching for action, how would you like to help me with something?"

* * *

Garrus watched round after round hit the target at the end of the chamber. The first shots missed completely; the next few crawled up the leg. Slowly, the rounds became more centered, hitting the upper and lower chest, with the last one landing right between the four eyes of the batarian. The batarian _cowboy_. Garrus inwardly cringed. Why was the force printing out these targets?

"There it is. Keep the sights at that level."

Shepard's face bore a look of frustration. "Really? My sights were way above the target."

"Then you're jerking the trigger. You have squeeze it smoothly. Like this."

Garrus unholstered his own pistol and fired downrange, the round landing squarely in the target's upper chest. After a minute of contemplation, Shepard presented her own gun again, and fired one more shot. It landed only an inch from the one Garrus made.

"Good." Garrus turned and gave a signal to Kirrahe, who pressed a button on the side wall. The chamber's overhead lights jumped from red to a clean white. "Attention. Range is clear," blasted the overhead speakers. The trio walked down to the target.

Because of Shepard's bluff, Pallin had let Garrus off the hook. But annoyingly, he didn't lend him any support for the investigation- and Garrus knew this was a refusal rather than mere incompetence or ignorance. It was clear that those higher in the chain of command wanted the case to be dropped. But no one was willing to give the order to drop it- the action would show in their records as a black mark, making them more liable to be passed on a promotion or commendation. They would be labeled as 'weak-willed'. So, it was more convenient to hand the impossible task off to someone else.

He needed resources, and right now no one was more willing to help him than Shepard. She had a lot to offer – a ship, miraculous alien technology, a crew, Tali's technical genius – and the girl seemed excited to dive face first into life in Citadel space. But there was one condition he promised to fulfill in exchange: to teach her how to fight. After the boarding of the _Heavy Light_, Garrus thought the request was reasonable, so he agreed.

He was never sure if C-Sec would allow him to bring Shepard to this place, since civilians weren't usually allowed. On a crowded space station like the Citadel, it wasn't easy to set up a live-fire range. On top of the fact that space was at a premium, the problem of safety had to be considered: it was easy to forget that just outside the delicate panes of glass that covered most buildings on the station was the vacuum of outer space. C-Sec owned almost every range on the station, the largest one being the Box: a 60,000 square foot chamber, lined with white tiles, placed right under the Citadel's control tower. It was where most C-Sec personnel came to practice, and where all of them completed their firearms training.

Since there was always training to be done, the Box was usually partitioned into several firing lanes. The aforementioned white tiles were made of an extremely strong ceramic that resisted everything from small arms to rockets and lasers, stopping short at vehicle-mounted ordinance. It took some real dedication to make a dent in them, and even if you did, the Keepers would quietly repair the damage in a few days.

Kirrahe held out his omni-tool at the target. A grid of laser light blinked over the target, identifying, scorch-marking, and cataloging each shot in a fraction of a second. "Deviation… point fifteen. Average shot, the right thigh. You're getting better, Shepard. You managed to kill our cowboy friend… though it would've been a very painful death.

Garrus stepped in. "Your draw is fast. Really fast, faster than me, even. We just have to work more on aiming."

Shepard flopped the pistol - a Hanhe-Kedar Kessler Mod. Six - around in her hand. "The trigger's mushier than most pistols that I've shot before... I suppose that's the price to pay when you want unlimited ammo."

In the afternoon, Shepard switched to training with long guns. Garrus had given here the choice of which one she wanted, and he was quite surprised to see her as for a shotgun from the quartermaster. He guessed that this was the result of Tali's influence.

"Shotguns are great," Kirrahe said. Garrus decided to let him take over, since it was his specialty. "It acts as an equalizer. Gives us salarians a chance against Krogan. Enhanced stopping power to compensate for our… fragility."

A row of targets was set up downrange. Between the masses of cowboys were a few no-shoot targets, represented by Asari 'damsels' in exaggerated poses of fear.

Kirrahe stepped up to the range, about to demonstrate a common drill done by STG trainees. He strafed the line of targets, firing blast after blast into the mass, chewing and throwing up the target paper in the process. The "buckshot" (really a flurry of copper alloy shavings) left visible trails of light as it flew. Despite the violent and chaotic display, not a single no-shoot target was hit. The whole display lasted no longer than two a second and a half.

The salarian walked back more invigorated than a red sand addict. "Woo! Still got it, baby!" He was surprised to see Shepard contemplating something, rather than cheering.

"Kirrahe, how do you… get used to this?"

The question seemed to stop the salarian in his tracks. "Well, sure, the shotgun has more recoil, but-"

"No. I mean how do you get used to killing? To… you know. Shooting people."

Shepard elaborated. "For the record I… _have_ taken lives before. A bit of bounty hunting, impromptu law enforcement, that kind of thing. It mostly involved shooting scumbags who robbed belt miners from their meager living. But that was on a ship… it's a lot different than shooting people with a gun. You don't see their eyes, their blood, their limp body floating there."

Kirrahe nodded. "Is this about the boarding action that happened on your ship?"

"Well... yes. I never had anyone die under my employ before."

"Under your _command_," Kirrahe corrected. "You're not just some boss anymore. This problem needs people that can lead. It's going to have to be you, someday."

The human paced around the shooting area, kicking a stray thermal clip aside. "Nah… it's not gonna be me. I'm no leader, and all the crew I brought with me here, I'm pretty sure they hate me. I only managed to get them in the ship with the promise of double pay… It's money I don't even have, since I'm now an outlaw in human space."

Kirrahe squared up to the range, opting to converse while taking a few more shots. "Before I was in DAU-12, I worked a stint with the STG's 3rd Infiltration Regiment. The soldiers there used to tell all sorts of stories of the legendary agents, the unsung heroes of the galaxy. I always found myself drawn to the tale of the Silent Step, the man who defeated a nation with a single shot."

* * *

_Far on the outskirts of Salarian Union space, there was a planet called Kic'Sakad. This was hundreds of years ago, so the Union wasn't as stable as today, and this planet was deep in the throes of revolt. The majority Lystheni population was fighting for independence from the largely Salarian interstellar government, and most people in the rest of the Union were calling for a swift and violent occupation. But one of the top STG agents at the time disagreed. He didn't think the planet's population needed to be purged or attacked- they were simply fighting for the right to self-govern. STG command allowed him to land on the planet ahead of the massing attack force, letting him see what he could do._

_For six weeks, the Silent Step evaded entire platoons of soldiers alone on the island, without killing a single enemy. He overheard conversations that hinted at some unseen force pulling the strings, channeling the Lystheni's very understandable need into something much darker. Only after crossing unthinkable wastes and scorching deserts did he find what he came for: the mastermind behind the revolt. He then trailed the leader for another six weeks, watching his every action, listening to every conversation._

_Only after all that time did he decide that the general deserved to be killed. He stayed motionless for days by a small grove near the stream with a single fruit tree- the preferred retreat for the revolutionary leader. With a single unheard shot, his life was ended, and before the guards realized what was going on, he vanished without a trace. __Without their vitriolic leader, the hateful Lystheni revolution simmered into a peaceful one, and fifty years later, the planet completed its peaceful transition out of the Union._

* * *

"Now, what did you learn from that story?"

"…don't miss your shots?"

The STG agent facepalmed. "No. The lesson is this: _good leaders are defined by their actions and their values_. Words are all well and good, but they don't say much about someone. Especially not in espionage."

"… I think I understand."

"No, no you don't. Concepts like this can't be fully understood from a bedtime story- you're going to have to _live_ it. But I hope the tale sets you on your journey."

Kirrahe pressed the button on the side wall again, resetting the range for another split. He then drew his shotgun, hissing and unfurling in his hands.

"Let's get back to it _soldier_. It seems we have some cowboys holding these fine ladies hostage. What should we do about that?"


	6. Chapter 6

The drell was glad to finally leave the dusty, aging complex that passed for a spaceport on this planet. Immediately after passing the front doors, he was greeted with a wave of oppressive heat and the stuffy feeling of dry air. He didn't mind- the arid weather was quite similar to the climate of Rakahna, the drell homeworld, but he did admit that it ruined the planet's natural beauty (if there was any left). A cloud of fine sand blew past him, prompting him to button his coat.

"Ready to go?" A nondescript batarian in a black coat asked.

He nodded, and the batarian wordlessly escorted him to a waiting armored car. It drove him through the middle of the nearby city, the planetary capital of Uriam, the Terminus' best kept secret. The planet was in a veritable goldilocks zone: it wasn't too close to major Terminus hubs like Omega to draw attention, and it wasn't too backwater to be irrelevant. Here, a man had both the privacy and the means to carve out a life for himself, or even a vision, if they were daring enough. But like all Terminus systems, the inverse was also true. One wrong move, and death – or worse – will be the only thing you'll receive.

The car almost immediately became bogged down in the narrow city streets, surrounded by rickshaws, pedestrians and street peddlers. He had learned from past trips to not bother gazing out the window; the only thing for him to see were endless billboards showing barely clothed asari maidens and suave men of all races enjoying strong liquor, all part of a feeble attempt to sell the planet as a paradise. That, and the occasional soldier shoving people into a firing line, though the sound of their gunshots could be heard from inside the car, so there was no escaping that reminder.

The batarian sat in the passenger seat, panning his gaze around like a robot. Left, then right, then left again in an endless cycle; making sure that none of the surrounding chaos escaped his notice. A submachine gun rested in his lap. His finger rested on the safety, curled and ready to jump into action on a moment's notice.

It was hard to see amongst all the buildings, but the drell knew the car was spiraling up a large hill. Every so often, the car would pull up to an armed checkpoint, where someone else in a black coat - sometimes turian, sometimes krogan - peered through the windows. After a few seconds, they all wordlessly gave the signal for the car to proceed.

His surroundings gradually began to change as the car ascended. The sounds of yelling and gunshots grew distant, eventually fading away entirely. The plants and trees began to look less withered, with more and more green showing on their leaves. The roads were smooth, and the streetlights weren't broken. Crumbling stone buildings were replaced with mansions built with alabaster walls and patina roofs, and pools where the impressionable asari maidens from the billboards swam with high-caste batarians in the afternoons.

As the car approached the crest of the hill, the façade of the biggest mansion in the city appeared. Like the others, this palace was gigantic and opulent, though this one was draped in teal banners lined adorned in golden patterns and symbols. When it stopped moving, the batarian stepped out and opened the door for his passenger. He waved his hand, inviting the drell to walk ahead down a path laden with stone statues and lush topiary.

Opening the front doors to the mansion was like lifting the bed sheets on a corpse: uncovering death. The main hall was nothing but a single large empty chamber, though the marks of furniture could still be seen on the floor. Gone were the triumphant arches and pillars of the houses further down the hill, and the fanciful décor he had just seen outside. It was replaced with sterile, oppressive walls and ceilings of concrete cast in sharp angles- the resting place for someone not yet dead, but not quite alive either.

In the middle of the brutalist nightmare sat a volus. The noise of his breather grew into an impressive echo in the chamber's terrible acoustics.

"Your mission was a failure," he declared.

The drell declined to bow. The gesture was only for those he was employed by, or in debt to, and the volus wasn't in either of these groups. They were partners, working for the same cause. He just wished that the relationship was understood by both sides.

"I was fed faulty intel," he stated simply.

Several tense minutes of near silence followed. Finally, the volus nodded and waddled forward. He gave one long look at the drell.

"No matter. I had _her_ take care of it."

A figure slid from the shadows at the side entrance of the room. It was female member of the new race, humanity, that the Marshal had recruited. The drell had decided that she fit the theme of the palace perfectly. Every time he'd seen her, she looked exactly the same: a featureless grey tunic, and a perfect, unchanging neutral expression on her face. Her brown hair was also made as plain as possible, falling to the side of her head without any of the styling that he knew that other human on the Citadel had. She only offered the correct application of politeness in her greetings- nothing more, nothing less. She never stepped on anyone's toes, but as the old adage went, that was only a problem if you planned to actually _take_ a step, and he didn't know what that step was going to be.

She said her name was Persephone. He replied that he thought the name was fake, merely a codename. She laughed, surprisingly, and admitted it was true. But according to her, that name had more meaning currently than her real one. He asked her what that meant, and she said that she would explain at a later time.

Persephone was an enigma, he thought. She clearly had vast resources at her disposal- this latest assassination job was just one in a long string of operations that found themselves mysteriously completed. When he asked the volus, he replied that she had completed them, and that was the end of it. The volus never asked her to explain anything she did- not her motives, her power, and evidently not her true identity.

"Thane, did you get my message? I managed to find your son."

"I know."

"Do you want to talk to him?"

He paused for a moment, then shook his head. "It's not the right time."

The volus, the one all citizens of Uriam called the Marshal, _the savior, the ruler_, nodded reassuringly, then slowly made his way back to his throne.

It was an odd place for Thane to end up. Years ago, when he was diagnosed with Vrolik's Syndrome, the slow, lethal disease that plagued the incumbent Drell population, he vowed to use his skills to better the world. From then on, he vowed to only kill if he believed that an eventual good would arise from it.

If most saw him now, he was sure that they would brand him a hypocrite. Not many could believe that working with a Terminus warlord constituted any kind of "good work." But the Marshal had taken great lengths to convince him otherwise. Sure, the planet was ruled in a strong-handed dictatorship, but it had relative peace and order. The rule of law existed, and the volus took great pains to ensure that he fell under it as well.

Again, it wasn't perfect- the gap between the rich and poor was as wide as on any Terminus world, and he employed a strong-handed police force that brutally surpassed any criminal without remorse. Those were the compromises, the Marshal argued. The rich were needed: they brought the only major source of wealth and influence to the planet. Without them, this world would be "free," but it would also be a barren desert, with no economy, no law, no future. And the police, he explained, were needed to fight back the ever-encroaching threat of the biggest Terminus gangs and pirate fleets.

And Thane saw that the Marshal did good with whatever scrap of power he managed to take for himself. His planet boasted the first known literacy programs in Terminus space. In the past few months, dozens of schools opened up across the planet, offering young ones a chance at a better life. But no one was under the illusion that this would be enough. This was still the Terminus, and sometimes, less than ideal methods had to be used. That's where the he came in.

"A new target on the Citadel. It's the Asari."

Thane lifted his head in surprise. "The Asari? I thought she was a benefactor."

"…She was. But she's a liability now, not an asset. If C-Sec captures her, then they could find their way back to us. The disruptive elements must be excised."

"You want me to kill civilians? That's going too far," Thane said coldly.

The volus stopped his noisy breathing for a moment, their species' equivalent of a sigh. "…fair enough, Thane. If you think you're able to, try to bring her here. But I don't need to remind you that she represents the biggest threat to our… operational security. Make sure C-Sec don't take custody of her. At all costs."

The drell silently nodded, then headed for his quarters. "At all costs," he repeated.

Seated at his desk, Thane pulled out the small picture of Kolyat, his son. It was taken when the child was still young, though he was an adult now, making his own way into the world- a fact that filled his heart with pride. He closed his eyes, and the silhouette of the face was still as detailed in his mind as the real picture, and it pulled him inwards.

_It was 3431 days ago…_

_The dark blue tone of the ocean surrounded us. The glass walls were sloped, a distinctly hanar style, with bubbles crawling up the outside on their way to the surface. Inside, the air was rarified and devoid of moisture, set to the drell biological standard._

_Koylat stood on my feet as we waddled around the room. I took a step when he took a step. He made the sounds of engines and servos with his mouth, pretending to me a mech pilot. I was the mech. After a minute, he took a misstep that sent him off balance, and began to fall forward, but I caught him, allowing myself to stumble as well. We collapsed on the floor laughing._

_Irikah came in, carrying a plate of meat tarts. The smell of spice and salt wafted across the room. Kolyat jumped up, stepping on her feet and hopping up her leg. She smiled, put they tray down, and picked him up, bouncing him the same way she did years ago, ever since he was a child, ever since we met. Her eyes bore none of the regret of the words that I was about to tell her…_

A voice broke Thane out of his trance.

"What was that?" he gasped.

It was Persephone. She stood behind him, a look of concern on her face. "…sorry. I asked if that was your son."

"Yes…" Thane palmed his head, trying to regain his bearings. "Apologies. My species has eidetic memory. It has a side effect: one can get lost in their memories when something triggers them."

The woman peered over his shoulder. "He looks just like you."

He chuckled. "If you get to meet other drell, you'll find that he actually looks quite different."

"So this is why you… do the things you do? For him?"

"…partially." Thane got up and peered out the window to face the planet's tan and blue sky. A sandstorm was brewing on the horizon. He closed the curtains, choking off the last bit of light into the room.

"I work with the Marshal to right my wrongs. For most of my life, I've killed merely because my masters commanded me to. Only after I had my partner, Irikah, and my son did I realize the harm I was causing, how dark the galaxy was becoming. Now, I only kill those deserving, those who are a blight in the galaxy. Maybe I can bring some of that light back before I die."

"An admirable cause." Persephone leaned back on a wall. "And what happens when the results and what you envisioned don't line up?"

"Pardon me-"

She held her hand out, placating him. "I'm not accusing you of anything. It's just that I've seen firsthand how good intentions become corrupted. The worst part is, you don't know who's to blame. No one person – or thing – caused it by itself."

"Sounds like you've had a lot of experiences with good deeds gone wrong."

She turned away. "You could say that. And no- I won't tell you what they are, not yet, anyway." She held up a book. "But, like I promised, I'll tell you what my 'name' means."

The woman recalled a story from her species' homeworld, from an ancient civilization thousands of years long dead. In the tale, Persephone was a young woman, daughter of the god of the sky, and the goddess of edible plants. The god of the underworld – the _Nadjourn_, in his tongue – was eventually smitten with her, and secretly took her as his wife.

When her mother, a goddess, found out, she was so inconsolable that her domain, the fields, vineyards and gardens, began to wither all over the world, threating to kill all life in the process. She dove into the abyss to retrieve her, but Persephone had already eaten food in the underworld, and thus was bound to stay there under primordial law. But a compromise was made, and from that time onwards, the seasons are formed by Persephone, who endlessly cycles between the abyss and the world above, calling neither her true home.

Thane guessed that the woman was currently in the 'underworld'- it seemed like an appropriate title for this planet, and especially this building. But what was her 'overworld', was it the place where she came from? What of the _Nadjourn_\- she couldn't possibly be talking about the Marshal. And what of the fruit of the underworld, and the law that bound those who ate it?

Thane turned around to ask those very questions, but the woman was gone, without the sound of footsteps to announce it. He never saw her again in the few days before he departed back to the Citadel.


	7. Chapter 7

The main hall of the Normandy was bathed in a somber mood. The overhead lights were turned off, and the tables and chairs had been stowed away. The doors were locked. The fifteen-odd human crew members stood together in a semi-circle, Shepard and Chakwas included.

There hadn't been much time to grieve for those killed on the _Heavy Light_, between the swapping of ships and the urgent return to the Citadel. No one spoke about it, but the commander had felt the tragedy silently taking its toll on the psyches of everyone onboard. It started a as a slight increase in terseness present in every conversation, then morphed into reclusiveness, pushing some of the crew members to take extended periods alone in their cabins. During the final stretch of the trip, the tempers were especially flared- fights even broke out among the engineering crew, usually stemming from the frequent breakdowns of the _Normandy_'s equipment. Once they landed and the crew was able to roam the station things simmered down a bit, but Shepard realized that it wasn't a panacea. The tensions would still rise eventually if something wasn't done.

In the middle of the room was a small monument. It was a hodgepodge of trinkets and symbols from the crews' myriad of cultures and beliefs. There was a small wooden cross constructed in the style of old, pre-spaceflight Catholicism; old sextants from some of the beliefs from the borderworlds, meant to guide a soul through the _Unending Sea_ after death. There was a stone bowl containing seawater from Shintara Dezhra, which many believed to have supernatural healing and spirit-rejuvenating properties. A small pink-red flower, significance unknown, was laid at the base of the display, next to some other objects. Some of the crew opted to express their remorse in more personal ways: scattered around were envelopes containing letters to the deceased that would be left unread, boxes of gifts or unpaid debts, some art, or small bottles of liquor. Front and center of the monument were pictures of the faces of the crew lost. Staring into the eyes of the portraits gave Shepard a sense of unease; it felt like they were watching her, judging her.

_They never signed up for this._

_It was all avoidable._

She looked at the picture in the middle. Peter. He was the one she first saw through telepresence, where she met up with Garrus and Nihlus, that allowed her to form a plan to kill the rest of the pirates. He was the only one who _had_ a burial request on hand when he was hired. The crumpled-up sheet said that he wanted to be dumped into a black hole. _Crazy bastard_. _Well_, she thought, _some poor sonofabitch back in the Core Systems was being paid to take care of that now._ The thought of his ghost, floating in space, cheering at the absolute, fundamental destruction of his body before passing to the afterlife was amusing. Perhaps she could arrange something similar for herself?

Shepard immediately shook the morbid thought from her head and surveyed her surroundings. For the first several minutes, the crew stayed mostly silent, with some of them weeping, embracing one another, or asking to be excused. The candles placed on the monument that were lighting the entire room started to slowly melt down. Gradually, the eyes turned to Shepard; she could feel them boring into her shoulders. They expected her to say something. She turned to face them, took a deep breath and spoke.

"Thank you all for coming," she sheepishly began. "I know the deaths of our fellow crewmen have hit all of us hard. I know, because it hit me hard. All the time, I wonder if things could have… turned out differently. If this could all be avoided, and it could… that's something I need to live with for the rest of my life."

Some of the crew bowed their heads down, churning through their own problems in their heads. She was sure that some of them secretly blamed her, and their convictions weren't entirely wrong. It would be a long road to repair their trust, but like Kirrahe said, actions define leaders, and Shepard was prepared to work through it, not talk through it- though some talking was sorely needed right now.

"You know, uh… if you didn't know, Peter was a bit of a storyteller. When he told me that he once got laid by staring down a charging gollunk, I hired him on the spot. Don't know if it was true, but the way he told it, drunk off a couple brews, 'bout seeing the tusks reflect in the sunlight, smelling the stench of its breath, and the Lavian women clamoring for him after…"

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "I only hope to see enough of the galaxy to make up something that good."

Some well-meaning chuckles floated among the crew. Shepard stepped back down, letting another member of the crew say their piece.

One by one, each member walked to the front, and spoke about one of the deceased. Some of the speeches were heavy, even morbid, some were more lighthearted. Gabrielle, the ship's cook, reminisced about the strange food requests Orson gave her. They always tasted awful, and she quickly learned not to waste the ingredients on making a full pot. Alejandro, the electrician and designated EVA walker, spoke about when Sidney touched an exposed panel he was working on. Right after, Ana elaborated further, explaining that she snuck into her dorms right after, hair all frazzled, looking for a hat to keep it down. And Shepard expected Chakwas to say a lot, considering her duties gave her contact with everyone, but she kept it brief. She guessed that most things the doctor wanted to say fell under patient confidentiality, but Chakwas did end things on a light note, espousing the need for us to keep chins held high.

"Here, here- yeah. Pass me one. Thanks." Shepard gripped one of the glasses making their way through the crowd. She asked Chakwas to pop open a new bottle of liquor, something special from her private stocks, trusting the doctor's choice. The mood of the crew was resurgent- not happy, but their spirits were certainly lifted somewhat. Some were doing better than others. Others had to sit down; they needed a little more time to themselves. Most were here in the hall, now with the lights turned on, finally conversing about the future.

"Hey, Shep," said Hamid, the FSD technician. "Thanks for hosting this. Being on the Citadel is nice but… it's kinda lonely here. It's just us, at least until that diplomatic fleet arrives. No aliens. Just us, right now."

She cocked her head. "Got a problem with the aliens?"

"No ma'am, not really. I don't fully trust them, but I think that's fair to say. We still know so little about them as a society."

"But they're no Thargoids, am I right?"

He nodded. "They ain't no Thargoids, that's for sure. Hey Boris, you once saw a Thargoid, right?"

"Yeah," a voice called out from the other end of the room. "Ugly fucks! These aliens at least have _two_ legs, and that quarian girl didn't look half-bad with hers!"

The pair snickered. "I'm going to excuse myself. I'm not sure if I like where this conversation's going. But to your first point, Hamid, you're welcome- I should've done this a while ago."

Shepard pushed her way to the front. "Everyone, excuse me! Just one final thing to say before the booze. Ahem."

The conversations died down.

"As your commander, I'm grateful that you all decided to drop your nice shore leave on Mars High and join me for the _second_ trip to the ass-end of the galaxy. Truly, I am. We've lost some already, and I won't lie- there are probably more hardships coming our way. But good times are coming right after that, I promise."

She looked around at the faces of the men and women that made everything possible. For far too long, she had left their management to Chakwas, her ever loyal and hardworking friend. But they were her responsibility, and it was now time for her to act the part.

"To the fallen."

The reply came in unison. "To the fallen!"

* * *

_Now entering: Orion-Cygnus Arm..._

The human diplomatic fleet, a joint venture by the three superpowers – Federation, Empire, Alliance – was a hodgepodge of ships in all sizes. The smallest ones, models such as the Viper Mark III and the Imperial Eagle, were crewed by a single pilot. While they weren't very powerful, they were extremely agile, thanks to their high thrust-to-weight ratios. In the hands of a master, they could be deadly adversaries to ships twice their size. The next largest were the 'mediums' – bulky enough to carry larger modules, they were often the first choice for pilots on trading or mining ventures. Large ships like the Anaconda would be classified by the Citadel as frigate-class. They had spacious interiors, powerful armor and shields, and usually had the best systems for heat management. Costing well over a hundred million credits, they represented the upper limit to what a civilian could hope to own.

The three largest vessels in the fleet were massive enough to dwarf even those. These were the capital ships: the proverbial 'mobile cities of war'. Each one, carrying a crew compliment of thousands, represented the pinnacle of humanity's war-making abilities, and were able to force an entire solar system to capitulate by their mere presence. Despite all their power, the true capabilities of a capital ship were fiercely guarded by the navies that wielded them, for fear that the other side could develop counterstrategies against them. The only fact that was the public was certain about was that they carried superheavy turrets and fighter complements that could destroy lesser vessels in seconds.

Capital-class vessels also used a different type of Frame Shift Drive than smaller ships. To the engineers and scientists that made them, they were marvels of physics. It was a far cry from those first hyperdrives invented by Li Qin Jao over ten centuries ago. Those crude things needed expensive networks of satellites and network stations to function, and even then, using them was extremely risky. Today, a simple computer command could shove over two million tons of alloy into a different dimension, then back out again over any world one wanted. If the man could see where his invention would lead, he would've weeped for joy over how far humanity had come.

For those flying (or fighting against) a capital ship, the CFSD meant something much different. To them, it was a threat, not a symbol of triumph. If one watched a capital ship jump into the skies above a planet, they would think the devil himself had been summoned. First, a massive cloud of inky smoke and lightning would appear. Then, a massive energy pulse would radiate out, often taking the form of a loud _growl_ that could cause windows to shatter if done in-atmosphere. The capital ship would slowly pull itself out of the cloud, pulling some of the ink out of the void with it. When two capital ships jump into realspace to battle each other, any competent pilot on grid gets the message loud and clear: _run away, now._

The Federation, being the first to produce them, dubbed their main capital ships 'battlecruisers.' The latest in the line was the Farragut Battlecruiser, a powerful, reliable, practical – albeit unsophisticated – warship. The Farragut's exclusive manufacturer, Core Dynamics, gave it a robust arsenal: sixteen superheavy pulse laser cannons, a full compliment of F63 Condors, and group of smaller Federal Corvettes, which could be attached to the hull when in superluminal transit. Like most things in the Federation, the interior systems made extensive use of 'weak' AI systems to monitor and control their sensors, communication systems, and other auxiliary components. This was a much-needed addition: the Farragut's interior was otherwise not enjoyable to live in for long deployments. The maze of metal halls and tunnels was cramped, unsightly, and confusing- all problems that compounded when considering the crew lived completely in zero gravity.

The Empire of Achenar, being the vain, superficial types, envisioned their Majestic Class Interdictor as a cross between a warship and a luxury yacht. They traded the heavy armor plates for a hull superstructure a single piece of synthetic alloy, which gives the Interdictor her curved, pure white form. The Empire's go-to ship builder, Gutamaya, built her armament equal but opposite to that of the Farragut. Most of the lasers were replaced by capital-class railgun mounts. Instead of Federal Corvettes and Condors, there were Imperial Cutters and Gu-97 fighters. But perhaps the single most glaring difference was the large rotating ring mounted near the Interdictor's stern. This toroid gave the crew, at least those in the higher ranks, artificial gravity. Despite the ostentatious look, the rotating ring had a practical use: in addition to being a warship, the Interdictor also served as the Empire's designated diplomatic craft, and nothing showed the Empire's wealth to dignitaries better than a dinner party on such a ring. It went a long way in convincing colony leaders to switch sides and leave the Federation.

Then, there was the Alliance. Being relatively new on the galactic scene, the Alliance didn't have their own capital ship designs, though there were plenty of rumours abound that they were currently being developed in secret. But they certainly didn't lack the means to maintain capital ships- in fact, the Alliance currently held a good number of fleet carriers. They didn't have any big guns, but they could hold a larger number of smaller ships, and thus had a similar level of power projection capability within a star system.

Emanuel Barmaley, a member of the Alliance's Council of Admirals, was currently on the deck of the carrier on route to the Citadel, the _ANS Quaterson_. The crew were working diligently around him, filing reports, forwarding communiques, reviewing ship systems. All usual stuff, though Barmaley could feel a rising apprehension among the crew. They all knew of the stories of the First Thargoid War, of pilots like John Jameson, who lost their lives tragically either at the hands of alien forces or plain old human treachery. Well, he was planning to come home, so they didn't have to worry about him sabotaging the mission.

The ship was in realspace, as it was recharging from a recent jump, so the admiral took the time to admire the masses of stars out the window. The constellations and nebulae around were completely foreign, as they were thousands of light years from the Core Systems. An Alliance vessel normally had no reason to be this far from home, not when there was a border patrol it could be assigned to. To prepare for the long trip, the _Quaterson_ had been filled to her maximum capacity. Food, water, fuel, guns- it was all here in spades. It paid to be prepared.

The admiral took a deep breath counted to four, and released. _This must be what it was like to be an explorer_, he thought. Though he spent most of his life among the stars, the admiral hadn't given such a life much thought. He could now see why some were attracted to making months-long expeditions far from civilized space. It was the feeling of being _immersed in the sublime_, the same feeling that led ancient sailors through the vast oceans of Earth, or the first space captains through vast canyons on distant moons. Barmaley decided to enjoy the feeling as often as he could. He knew he wouldn't have it when he returned back to the Core Systems.

Yes, it was very different to be an Alliance Admiral. There were only six, one pulled from each of the most powerful systems in Alliance space. Barmaley hailed from Leesti. Population: five billion. It was commonly seen as the 'bastard brother' of the more famous systems like Zaonce, Tionisla, or Alioth. The system was mainly known for two things. The first was Leestian Evil Juice, a legal drug that caused the user to be possessed by a kind of malice. The second was the local zero-G cricket league, which attracted a small but rabid following across the entirety of the Core Systems. His system's middling reputation had followed him to his posting. It sounded harsh, but he knew the reason he was being sent was one of convenience. The other admirals were simply too important to the defence of Alliance to pull out of commission.

The Council of Admirals commanded the Alliance Defence Force, and were the ones tasked with defending the Alliance from her main foes, the Federation and Empire. Largely free of the crippling indecisiveness of the Alliance Assembly, the Admirals operated on a policy of 'act first, explain later'. Their fleets were built up from contributions from the member worlds; while they couldn't beat either the Federal of Imperial navy in an all-out war, they could delay the advance long enough for the member worlds to mobilize their own navies. Their existence made taking the Alliance prohibitively costly- but not impossible. It was a strange predicament, knowing that you were destined to lose any major military engagement that would spring up.

He was, essentially, the black sheep of a group that were expected to lose the war that they created to fight. And where he stood, before the vast confluence of uncharted stars, it was understandable that the title of 'Admiral' receded from his mind. From now on he was to be formless, to simply advance the interests of the Alliance in any way he could.

The main tactical screen showed that the _Quaterson_'s FSD was half charged. It would take about an hour for it to be fully spooled up. He toured the deck again and noticed that the crew's activity was winding down. It seemed like they finished going through all the communiques that couldn't be received while the ship was in witchspace.

"Think we'll stumble into any of those citadel aliens or those 'mass relays'?" Captain Phoebe Collier asked. She was a new addition to the _Quaterson_. The Admiral admitted to himself that her chipper and inquisitive attitude lightened the mood around the bridge. She was pretty, a fact that wasn't lost on the rest of the crew. Her blonde hair and endearing smile fit the stereotype of 'cute starship mechanic', not the captain of a warship. Luckily, neither of them didn't need to remind anybody about the ADF's rules regarding fraternization.

"We could, but it's extremely unlikely. Less than once percent of the galaxy has been mapped. It's likely - no it's almost certain – that we've traveled near some inhabited stars on the way here. It's equally as likely that we won't bump into one."

"Awfully strange that the relays skip so many stars in between," she mused. "Sure, most of them are duds, but there are bound to be some Earth-Like Worlds between the relays, somewhere. The probabilities don't lie."

"The probabilities don't lie," he repeated to himself slowly.

The intercom suddenly blared. "Admiral, the Prime Minister wishes to speak with you. He wants an update."

"Tell him I'll be there in a few," he answered.

Down the hall, the admiral entered one of the carrier's decks, where maintenance and repair was done on the ships stored inside. There, he passed by a group of Wolverines, clad in tan camouflage patterns, jogging in a line. Small crates and boxes had been scattered around an unused section of the deck, acting as markers for an impromptu course. There wasn't enough space for a full track, so the soldiers did multiple laps around before counting it.

The Wolverines were the Alliance's special forces, pulled from the best of the member world's various carabinieri. Due to the atypical recruitment and training methods, the skillset of the typical Wolverine unit was more diverse than most. The Alliance even allowed former criminals into their units, provided that they showed no proclivity to their old life. As with most things in the ADF, the success of the Wolverines didn't come from funding, or a tough training regimen, though they had both. It came from the simple willingness to refuse to back down, pure human grit.

"Sir," Sergeant Riley Holt, the leader of the unit, said. He popped off a salute. The rest of his team formed behind him in a moment.

"At ease." He eyed the makeshift course. "Are you finding the room onboard inadequate?"

Holt paused an instant to catch his breath. "We'll make do sir- although I must admit, we're used to planetary missions. Long-range recce, walking for days through the wilderness, stuff like that. The cramped conditions are making my team a little antsy. Again, it's nothing we can't handle, sir."

"Not a spacer, then? It's odd that you've been assigned to this mission. We're not expecting any terrestrial operations. Just guarding and escorting on a crowded space station."

"It was my choice, sir. I wanted something new, and well, what's newer than this?"

The admiral had to agree. He was sure that most of onboard crew were partaking on the mission for similar reasons. He dismissed them and continued heading to his meeting.

The conference room was nothing more that a spherical chamber with a circular platform in the middle. Barmaley stood and watched as the walls, lined with thousands of small, bead-like cameras, morphed into another place entirely. The harsh fluorescent lighting dulled until it became warm sunlight; the admiral swore he could feel the warmth on his face. The small platform expanded outward to become a hardwood floor, which connected with four plain walls. The cold starship chamber had completely changed into a welcoming room. _Damn, these telepresence modules are good._ He looked out one of the nearby windows and saw rolling hills full of wheat, swaying in the breeze. Only the lack of gravity broke the illusion of being planet-side.

The Alliance Prime Minister, Edmund Mahon, appeared in front of him, propping his feet up on his desk. For the leader of half a trillion, he was physically unremarkable. He was slightly potbellied and had a greying head of hair, and often wore simple and slightly mismatched clothing. Most photos of him in the news depicted him wearing his signature brown faux-leather coat, a slightly passé look by the fashion standards of most worlds.

Not that anyone was expecting him to be a model or anything. The man was old; at 119, he was unusually lively for his age. The public saw him as everyone's lovable old uncle, a reputation that he was keen to play up if it meant that more people would underestimate him. It was well-known that he was around when the Alliance was founded and argued for its eventual creation- a fact that forced the Federation to revoke his scholarship. In interviews, he said that event spurred him to transform himself from the son of a corn farmer into one of the most powerful – and popular – leaders in the Core Systems.

Mahon smiled genially. "Admiral, how is the voyage going? My aides are telling me that you're a long way from the Bubble now."

"Yes sir. The voyage is going fine. No major equipment malfunctions, and our Federal and Imperial friends are playing nice. Their fleets aren't taking any shortcuts or deviating from the timetable. At this rate, we're all going to arrive at this 'Citadel' on time, though the plans for what to do when we get there are still a bit vague."

The Prime Minister nodded. "We're still setting that up on our end. We're using Jeff Moreau as an intermediary and communications channel with the Citadel Council for now. Don't worry, we'll send you the procedures before you arrive in-system."

"That's good."

Barmaley was one to put his faith into plans, and the best ones were intricate and well thought out. Going into situations blind was something that he only did in emergencies. Mahon, on the other hand, was someone who could thrive in chaos. One needed to be such a person to make a good Prime Minister: the position forced one to operate in the quagmire that was the Alliance Council, which was filled with representatives from every single member world. The Prime Minister had to oversee a thousand different negotiations between as many worlds over every topic, ranging from honorary titles to economic treaties to human rights crisis. Though Barmaley thought his job was hard, he certainly didn't want to fill Edmund's shoes.

"How are things between the Federation and Empire?"

"They still can't believe that the aliens contacted us first," he said, laughing. "They didn't, it was luck- but still, it makes for some good propaganda."

"Sir, I must ask: why did we allow the Feds and Imps on this? Imagine the power we could gain if we were the only ones with a working relationship with this 'Citadel Council'. We could secure our place for decades, maybe centuries to come."

It would certainly be a case of karmic justice, he concluded. The Alliance's formation – and its continuation – was based on the historical oppression that colonies had received from both the Federation and Empire. No other planet represented this more that the Alliance's Capital system, Alioth. Like on many other worlds, Alioth's inhabitants were caught in ceaseless fighting between the Federation and Imperial forces. Alioth had more than its fair share though, due to the abundance of minerals on its planets. The resentment and animosity on the planet and the nearby independent populations came to a head in the 3220's, which transformed the then-called Caker Insurrection into a full-blown independence movement, and eventually culminating in the formation of the Alliance. But the deep resentment remained. Some planets in the Alliance only chose to maintain relationships between the other superpowers out of pure necessity, and the chance that they could be played on each other for gain. Others wouldn't even entertain that option. Barmaley admitted that he fell somewhere between these two opinions. Like many, he saw firsthand how Federal and Imperial citizens treated him and his family. They way they talked, the way they spoke- it was obvious that viewed the Alliance with contempt, as a temporary manifestation of the anger of the colonies.

Mahon tilted his head and stared off into the distance, contemplating something. "Could we? We're a third of the population of the Empire, and a fifth of the Federation. The only reason they haven't conquered us is because it would be too costly. To them, the risk is bigger than the reward."

His friendly demeanour immediately turned cold. "First contact just made the reward bigger. If we were the sole benefactors, they might find that an invasion is a risk is worth taking."

Barmaley frowned. The Prime Minister was a pragmatic man, and he made sense, but it was still a tough pill to swallow. The other superpowers were let in because the Alliance was still at their mercy. He would do everything in his power to change that. But the Federation and Empire, for their faults and flaws, were still humans. They were still known quantities, unlike this 'Citadel Council.'

Mahon sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Still, things are going fine. The talks of posing as a united front are still going along slowly, but I wouldn't say they've faltered yet."

"United front, sir?"

"United front, trilateral action, cooperation- what ever you want to call it. It's actually been done a few times, mostly against the Thargoids. These aliens haven't proved to be as hostile, but one can never be too sure."

After a moment of contemplation, Mahon got up from his office chair, walked to a nearby window, and looked out.

"…that isn't to say there isn't anything we can do to further the interests of the Alliance."

The admiral perked up. "Sir?"

"I've read your profile, Barmaley. A true patriot, it said. You represent the idealist side of the Alliance- the 'movie star,' as I like to say. I, on the other hand, represent its boring practicalities. My work is defined by compromise and appeasement. They're not bad things in of themselves – it was certainly the order of the day during the Lugh Incident – but now is the time for action. And action requires _men of action_. People like you."

The man opened the window. Wind blew in, jostling some of the sheets on the desk, but the admiral couldn't feel any of it.

"That's why I sent you along. I trust you'll do everything out there to further the interests of the Alliance."

The admiral nodded. "Absolutely sure."

Mahon smiled. "Good. We'll need as many people as we can muster tackling this situation as it develops. You might have guessed that we're a little… understaffed at the moment."

Barmaley perked up. He thought it was only a rumor. But if it was true, it made his job much harder- and orders of magnitude more important.

"Is it true sir? That Halsey mysteriously vanished?"

Mahon nodded wordlessly.

"Why am I not surprised. She abandoned the Federation to come to us. Now she's abandoning the Alliance, during a time when she has the most to gain."

"I suppose, but remember: Halsey is proof that the galaxy is a strange place. And we are certainly living in strange times."

From the way the Prime Minister looked, Barmaley felt that he was holding something back, but he knew it was unwise to press further. If it was critical to the mission, he would have known already.

"Until next time, Admiral. Remember, the foreseeable future of our Alliance is in your hands." He pressed a button on his desk, and the world began to melt back into nothing.


	8. Chapter 8

Chakwas adjusted the light filter, swiveled the mount 180 degrees toward the nearby window, and angled the telescope up sharply. To anyone passing by, she might have seemed like an amateur astronomer, searching for the few constellations bright enough to shine through the Serpent Nebula. This may be true on a planet, but this was the Citadel: when you looked up, you were actually looking down on another arm of the station. And while it _was_ a telescope, it had certain features not available on any civilian model, like a VI-controlled integrated display and the infrared module that she was currently using. The scope was focused on a certain area of Kithoi Ward, the 1100 Blocks, right down onto the roof of one of the skyscrapers, which was tall enough to stick out from the nearby buildings. Just as the rest of the team came into focus, the view turned black. This annoyed the doctor somewhat.

"Team, hold position," she said over the radio. "We've got a ship overhead." She received an affirmative in response and waited for the vessel to pass by.

Thanks to a recent tip from Kirrahe and the Direct Action Group, Garrus discovered that Sumia Janirix, the captain of the ship that initiated first contact, had holed herself up on the top floor of one of the ward's skyscrapers. A bit of surveillance on the doctor's part showed that she was constantly surrounded by a team of hired guards. Although he couldn't be sure, Garrus figured that the asari had realized that her cover was blown. His gut feeling told him that the asari was planning to depart from the station soon. He needed to move before that happened.

"Alright, the ship's passed. There's no sky-cars around either. The coast is clear," Chakwas announced, prompting Garrus to place the breaching charge on the skyscraper's roof. He and the rest of the team retreated to a safe distance.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Shepard confirmed. Garrus noticed that she was wearing a cloak over her hardsuit. It was matte grey and had a strange plastic-like sheen over it, and to Garrus, it looked like a garbage bag without the wrinkles- but he quickly shook that thought away. Now was not the time to criticize human fashion sense.

He trigged the detonator, and the charge exploded in a flurry of sparks and dust. Though they were in space, the immense shockwave reverberated throughout the building, up the body, and into Garrus' helmet, disorienting him for a moment. Things were much worse for the guards on the other side. The blast was followed by a loud _whoosh_ as the air rushed out of the cracked floor below. A pair of turians flew out, carried by the pressure wave, squirming and clutching their necks due to the lack of air. From their ragged face paint and style of clothing, Garrus pinned them as members of one of the small-time gangs that festered on the station. They were way over their heads. He felt a pang of guilt for condemning them to a horrible fate, but this surprise assault made his mission a lot easier. The guards were expecting an assault from the ground floor, not the top.

Shepard, Tali and Garrus hopped down the breach into the room below. It was used by the gang as a makeshift security room: a computer terminal was placed on the table, accompanied by a few screens that were tapped into the building's security cameras. Tali hopped on the computer and swiftly navigated to the elevator control panel. A series of status lights hung above each elevator connected to the top floor. One keystroke, and they all turned from green to red.

"There, none of the elevators can arrive on this floor now," Tali said. "This should buy us some time, but they'll find a way to override it eventually."

Garrus nodded. "Then let's move."

Unfortunately, the advantage of surprise and the vacuum was not in their favor in the main hall. Though their earlier breach had started the building's emergency evacuation procedures, ridding them of any civilians, it had also triggered emergency containment fields on nearby doorways. Garrus knew that they wouldn't impede movement, but the fields kept the air in and the mercs in the apartment suite alive. He could hear noises from behind Sumia's apartment door: panicked shouting, the soft _whirr_ of guns unfurling, and the _thump_ of furniture being kicked over. The gang members were going to mount a vicious defence. Garrus hooved it to the next position, intent on breaking that defence before it solidified.

Chakwas' voice called out the targets in the living room. "Four targets, two in the back corner, two to the left of the door. There's no guards in the connecting bedroom, just a single heat signature. It's probably Sumia."

The trio paused before the door. He checked his gun and gear, then spoke to the rest of his team in hushed tones.

"Here's the plan: I go in and stun the first mercs I see. Shepard, I want you to finish them off. Tali, back me up with tech attacks if we need them." His two partners both nodded in response.

Garrus opened the door and stormed in. The room was arranged just as the doctor said: two salarians in the back corner, standing behind an overturned couch. A concussive blast detonated between them, smacking their bodies to the ground. He quickly turned to the next threat. No time to finish them off- that was Shepard's job.

He raised his rifle and turned to the back of the room. He saw two other salarians with lighter toned skin. One stumbled backwards, face twisted in surprise, the other was raising a submachine gun. He drove the sights to the imminent threat. A squeeze of the trigger, a blue flicker of light. The salarian's shields were holding.

A high-pitched _beep_ came from behind him, followed by the angry crackling and the sizzle of electricity. An _overload_, no doubt Tali's work. The enemy's blue glow was gone, but the sound of two pistol shots came from his direction. They thankfully missed. He squeezed his own trigger. A quick _zip-zip-zip_, and a blood smear grew on the wall. The last salarian was beginning to raise his shotgun. Garrus charged and pinned him to the wall. A few gut shots from his pistol finished the job.

Letting the guard fall to the floor, Garrus briefly checked behind him for any missed threats, and breathed a sigh of relief when he found none. Only a few seconds had passed, and all four guards lie dead.

The final door flew open, and the trio shuffled into the dimly-lit bedroom. It was luxurious; the full-sized glass planes that surrounded the room presented a grandiose view of a large section of the Citadel's exterior. The bed frame and light fixtures were exquisitely crafted, and the walls held a few large paintings that oozed luxury. Several pieces of clothing and a few empty food containers lay scattered around the floor- the evidence of a messy owner.

Shepard carefully walked in, carefully tiptoeing around the garbage. She looked around. "Huh, the asari's not here."

"I got her on thermal," Chakwas chimed in. "To your left, Shepard."

Garrus turned to the object at that location, a walk-in closet. Now that the gunfire had subsided, the faint sounds of whimpering and fast breathing stemmed from inside.

"Sumia, is that you?" Garrus called out. "Come out, we just want to talk."

The closet door slowly slid open, revealing the asari in question. Not only did she look scared, but the wrinkles on her face hinted at many sleepless nights and stressful days.

"Did you fight your way in here? Did you kill Jeff?" She clawed at Tali's harness. "_Please_ don't say you killed Jeff!"

"Woah- hey!"

Garrus, surprised by the asari's pleading, took a moment to pry the asari off Tali.

"Relax," Shepard said. "We didn't shoot any humans getting in here."

Sumia turned towards the window and put her head into her hands. "Oh, thank the goddess! None of this is his business. He only came here to talk to me, to try and convince me to leave. But they overheard what he said and took him away. Said if I try to flee, they'll kill him."

_They weren't hired guards_, Garrus realized, _they were captors. _He walked towards the room's exit and looked out. The hallway was quiet. There was no yelling, no sound of an approaching merc team. He pulled his head back inside and cleared his throat, doing his best to put on his 'friendly neighborhood C-Sec officer' voice.

"First we need to know who kept you here. Only then can we protect you." He motioned for her to sit on the bed. "Do you know someone called the 'Marshal?'"

The Asari nodded. "From what I overheard, the Marshal is a high-ranking Shadow Broker agent… at least he used to be. He's making his own moves now, as a Terminus warlord."

"Neither this 'Broker' or the Marshal seem like good people to be involved with. Why did you deal with him?" asked Shepard.

Sumia sighed and paused. "You wouldn't understand." Seeing that her rescuers were unconvinced, she continued.

"Most asari maidens look up to the great Asari explorers. Take Cynthia T'Gami, who led the team that first contacted the Salarians, or Arythea, who inducted the Turians into the Council. Pictures of them were framed in every school, every museum in Asari space, on the walls of the Citadel Tower. If you have the chance, you should go there and check them out for yourself."

"Discovering a new race was my life goal. That's why I worked my way up to becoming a captain of an exploration ship. And when I stumbled upon that human outpost, I thought: _'Wow, I'm so lucky. I'll get to put my portrait up there in the Tower, right beside my idols.'_ It was a dream come true."

She collapsed onto her bed, balled her fists, and raised them in the air. "Then I got the news. The Council, the Republics, they both betrayed me. The message said that it was 'for the good of the Asari spirit of cooperation and harmony,' or some other shit. My name was going to be scrubbed from the records, replaced with someone else. A new, sanitized version of first contact would be distributed to the media instead."

"Why would they do that?" Garrus asked.

"I don't know for sure, but my guess is that once the Council realized that humans weren't some young primitive race, but were powerful enough to rival them, they tried to paint themselves as faultless. If the galaxy knew how bad they screwed up their meeting with a new galactic superpower, it could cause a number of problems for them down the line."

Shepard nodded. "…and if the Council wasn't going to pay you lip service, then you would get it from all the galaxy's pirates."

The asari nodded with her head slumped. "I wouldn't be known in Council space, but in the Terminus systems, my name would still live on as the one who ushered in a new age."

"Shepard, how can you agree with her?!" Garrus stammered.

"I'm not agreeing with her," Shepard replied. "I just understand where she's coming from. For some people, the greatest insult is to be ignored."

Sumia croaked out an apology. "By the time I realized what I did was wrong, it was too late. Like I said, one of your kind, a man named Joker, was helping me build the translation matrix for your language. When he figured out what I did, he came here to convince me to get away, to hide somewhere. Then they took him away- I heard them mention 'Torfan', though I don't know where that is."

Garrus fought hard to contain his seething rage. Selling a secret that allowed pirates in the Terminus to easily capturing human ships… just to have your name remembered? It sounded like a sick joke, but he could question her on that later.

"Do you know anything about Marshal's attack on the Citadel?"

Sumia suddenly shifted from solemn to confused. "An attack?"

"Yes!" Garrus spat. He was getting impatient.

"That's terrible! I would have never went to Uriam if-"

A chirp on the radio interrupted the heated conversation. "Chakwas here. I'm seeing a heat signature move up the building."

Suddenly, a slight noise jolted Garrus out of his thoughts. It seemed to move from a corner of the kitchen, to a wall in the main hallway, to somewhere in the ceiling.

Shepard went and opened the door. She was greeted with the _zip_ of a suppressed gun and a high caliber round zipping toward her head. Her extra-strength shield (Garrus had insisted on it) was still active, and it caught the bullet in time, but the shock of getting hit sent the commander skittering back into the room. Her shield flickered, then disappeared.

"Contact!" Garrus put blindly fired out the door as Shepard scrambled backward deeper into the room. When he thought it was safe, he slammed the door shut.

"Oh, goddess! The Marshal sent his assassin after us," Sumia exclaimed. She was wide-eyed and on the verge of delirium.

Garrus realized that the situation was beginning to unravel. The assassin had the only exit to the room covered. Well, there was probably a fire escape somewhere, but Garrus guessed that this 'Marshal' fellow only hired professionals. He briefly thought about simply blasting through the bedroom window and climbing onto the ceiling, but the realization that Sumia wasn't in a pressurized suit canceled that train of thought.

There seemed to be only one way out: through.

Garrus moved into cover beside the door. If the assassin opened the door came in, he would be ready for it. "Okay, listen up. We're going to have to fight this guy. Shepard, get your shield up to full strength. I'll be right behind you. Tali, you'll be rear guard- make sure Sumia is safe."

He pulled out a 3D floor plan of the building up on his omni-tool. "We're going to have the doctor call in a sky-car to the building; there's a landing pad three levels down. The assassin isn't going to face us head on, there's too many of us. So he'll probably strike and retreat as we make our way down. I want everyone to move quickly, but carefully. Clear?"

An uneasy chorus of acknowledgements came in response, with the last one meekly following a few seconds later. It came from Sumia, who was beginning to calm down.

"Let's go."

The first one out the door wasn't Shepard, Garrus, or Tali. It was Tali's combat drone, Chiktika. The floating holographic sphere bobbed down the hall without resistance or incident. Garrus listened carefully for any shots from either the assassin or the drone and breathed a sigh of relief when there was none. The coast was probably clear. The team streamed out of the door a few seconds later, making it down the first flight of stairs before the first hints of trouble showed.

Tali manipulated her omni-tool, and the drone floated ahead into the next corridor. Suddenly, the door connecting the two rooms closed, cutting off the drone and the team. The overhead lights gave out; the team immediately switched to flashlights, but the assassin still had plenty of places to hide.

"What the-"

In Garrus' periphery, he could sense movement. It was too dark to see, but he reflexively swung his rifle over to the shadow where he sensed it and was rewarded with a swift kick to his gut. He fired, but an unseen hand swatted his rifle to the side. The brief illumination by his muzzle flash gave him a brief picture: two beady eyes, a face covered with scales. He felt a force push his legs to the side, causing him to stumble.

A wisp of air sent the turian into a panic: the assassin was ignoring him, making a break for Sumia. "Stop him!"

The ignition of Shepard's mercury torch bathed the room in a blue-white glow, allowing Garrus to see the assassin's outline: tall and lanky but lacking the proportions of a salarian. The only other species that could fit those features - tall, skinny, beady eyes, scales - were drell. There were less than a million of them in the galaxy, and the most famous of them were remorseless and efficient killers for the hanar.

Shepard stood in front of Sumia, bracing herself. The drell tried to duck and weave around her, but the commander backpedaled almost as fast, making sure to always keep herself between him and the asari. Garrus approved. It was an acceptable tradeoff; she was losing ground fast, but her job wasn't to defeat a highly-trained drell assassin, it was only to stall him long enough for Tali and Garrus to get their bearings.

The drell lunged at Shepard, trying to force her out of they way, but the commander pivoted her body and brandished her cloak, lifting up it to her face. It instantly began to glow and flash rapidly in every color of the rainbow, with a luminosity that forced Garrus and Tali to look away. Somehow – Garrus didn't quite understand – it caused the drell to leap sideways, as if avoiding a speeding skycar. He collapsed to the floor, if only for a second.

Tali shot at the drell sporadically, making sure to not endanger Sumia or the commander. Her shots grazed the top of his back, causing him to scamper out of the way. Realizing that his moment of surprise was over, the assassin threw down a grenade. Thick smoke flooded the room, allowing him to vanish.

Garrus slowly got to his feet. He didn't waste time looking for the drell; he knew he was long gone. Tali rushed to the downed pair. Shepard was doubled over, exhausted from the ordeal. "Are you two okay?"

"Yes, I'm alright," Sumia responded. The two glanced at Shepard, who threw up a hand, begging for a few more seconds.

"What the hell was that?"

Garrus couldn't decide if Shepard was smirking or simply queasy from the close encounter. "Just a little gadget I had. It's based on the hologram technology you saw me on my ship. Can really disorient people if they aren't expecting it."

"Glad you brought it. Just warn me next time- I think I looked at it too long."

A few feet ahead, he took an aggressive stance, ready to push through the next corridor. "Let's move. The longer we wait here, the more time he has to set up another ambush."

Before the team reached the next floor, a series of explosions rocked the building. As soon as they exited the stairwell, they were greeted with a series of atmospheric containment fields criss-crossing the whole floor. Large holes were torn into the side of the main hallway, exposing those sections of the floor to space.

Garrus inwardly swore. It was a trap; there was no way to get to the next stairwell without exposing oneself to the deadly vacuum. Again, it was no problem for Shepard, Tali or Garrus, as they came with suits, but they would have to leave Sumia behind if they didn't come up with something quick.

"Chakwas, change of plans. Take the sky-car to the floor above. There's a hole in the wall to fit through."

A short pause. "I'll try my best. I'll be in contact when I'm close."

All that was left was to hold position and wait. While the assassin had trapped them, he also made their position more defensible, since any avenue of attack was easier to see. There were only three entrances to the room: back through the stairwell, the side door leading to the dining hall, and the giant hole blown in the room's inner wall, covered with a low-powered kinetic barrier. Shepard was sent to watch the forward door, her strange hologram device providing a meager amount of concealment for the rest of the team. Tali covered the back door with her shotgun. Garrus faced the blown-out wall, and the drone hovered in the center of the room's ceiling. Everything was covered.

The team held position for a few tense minutes. Silence reigned, save for the noise of broken machinery and crumbling concrete. There wasn't a single hint that the drell was here, somewhere, stalking them.

Garrus noticed that Shepard was becoming more uncomfortable with being placed in the most exposed portion of the room. He mentally kicked himself- of course she would, she only had a small amount of training, and it only covered firearms, not the other aspects of combat. She slowly shifted to the side, opening a gap between personal shield and the door.

He was about to address it when the he heard the welcome sound of an approaching sky-car.

The vehicle flew in, though it was more of a sky-van, since its boxy frame barely fit through the gash in the outer wall. It haphazardly landed with one end sticking through the hole in the wall, in order to allow a door for Sumia to enter through the atmospheric barrier. The door opened with an audible _hiss_. Chakwas' head poked out.

"Sorry for the delay," she yelled over the sound of the car. "When you told me to get a sky-car, _this_ _guy_ appeared behind me. Said that he knew you, and he had a vehicle ready." She motioned to the front seat- a certain black speckled salarian was there, humming to a tune on the radio without a care in the world.

Garrus was incredulous. "Kirrahe? How did you know?"

The salarian shot him a look that screamed _I'm STG, stupid_. "Get in. My team has a safehouse you take the asari."

Garrus signaled for the team to fall back from their positions. Tali helped Sumia up from the furniture she was hiding behind. The asari ran to waiting vehicle as fast as she could, stumbling slightly when she climbed into the sky-car.

"There's someone else you-"

The sentence was cut short by a single pinprick of light coming from the front doorway, through an angle that Shepard left exposed. The round struck her side, and she collapsed clutching the wound.

It was the drell.

Chakwas immediately went to work, quickly but carefully pulling her further inside to make room. "Get in, now!" Garrus barked, as he watched for the assassin to show himself again, rifle spitting bursts at the location where he expected the assassin to be. The remaining two members broke into a sprint for the air-car.

As they climbed in and the Kirrahe took off, Garrus turned to Chakwas, who was examining the wound. Her hands were a flurry as she worked to apply pressure and a bandage- it was all she could do, given her unfamiliarity with alien medicine. Her face hinted at a grim condition.

"The shooter used polonium rounds. Highly toxic-"

"-and highly illegal," Kirrahe added.

Everyone watched as Sumia jerked erratically in her seat. She tried to lift her arm to her eyes, but it flopped back down uselessly, with only violent shivering to show for her effort. The blue skin around her face was slowly becoming pale, and her head to the edge of the seat.

"Listen… listen to me. Find Joker… please. He's a decent guy. Don't let him pay for my mistakes." Her words slowly trailed until all that was left was the sound of erratic breathing, and soon after, even that stopped.

There was a short moment of silence after she died. The only sounds in the car was the soft _whirr_ of the engines and the barely audible typing of Kirrahe at the controls of the sky-car.

Eventually Shepard spoke up. "I'm sorry," she pleaded. "It was my fault. I didn't cover the door closely enough." She sporadically looked away and wiped her eyes.

If Garrus was being honest with himself, he didn't feel sad at failing the mission. Nor did he feel angry at Shepard's perceived mistake or Sumia's betrayal of her people. He simply felt… numb.

_Another death._

_Another failure._

"No, it's my fault. I ordered you to move back too soon," Garrus replied absently, though he found himself not believing his own words.

No one dared to speak for the rest of the trip. All that anyone manage was look to the skycar's left, where just outside, several warships of the Citadel Defence Fleet, including the Destiny Ascension, were massing in a half-sphere in front of the Citadel. The red lights on their hulls blinked in tandem with one another like a school of bioluminescent fish.

Kirrahe tuned the sky-car's comm system to pick up their radio chatter. It was encrypted, but the volume of noise quickly increased- _they must be excited for something_, Garrus thought. The chatter suddenly spiked. An inky black cloud appeared some distance in front of the fleet, from which an ominous figure emerged out of.

The human fleet had arrived.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

**Hey everyone! I'm still working on the story, though it's going a little slower than I expected. I wanted to make sure that I have a tangible idea for the plot before moving forward. So these next few chapters might be a bit rough before I hone in on my new idea.**

**In other news, Frontier announced their showcase for the Fleet Carrier expansion. Finally. They were what I was imagining for the _Quaterson_ back in the previous chapter, so if you want to have a better idea, you can look at the new screenshots.**

**Until next time,**

**mi1**


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